At the Edge of the Ocean
by FazzyGrl.22
Summary: I played with the young dark-haired girl when I woke in the morning. I played with the young dark-haired girl. I played when we woke and when the sails were unfurled. I played with the young dark-haired girl...
1. Prologue: 1502

Prologue

1502

"I wonder what is over there?"

A Portuguese captain pulled a spyglass from his belt and stared at the small bed of land situated off the coast of Africa. The islands weren't much to look at, but the men were admittedly curious. After some debate, the men decided to cast a line and go ashore to explore.

"How beautiful!" were most of the exclamations as the sailors roamed around. While his men continued to walk around and analyze their surroundings, the captain just stood by the shore, thinking. The island didn't seem inhabited, but there were subtle signs that hinted at previous treks into the surrounding jungle. As more of his men began to enter the thick brush of trees, the captain spoke up.

"Wait, men. Before you all just go barreling into jungle that could be full of wild animals and poisonous plants, let us all make sure that we are armed and we shall go in together. Also, be on the lookout for anything unusual. Others have been here before us."

His crewmen obeyed his orders and they all slowly plunged into the tropic green. After hours of exploring, they found themselves on the other side of the island, with no sign of any human life. After some debate of what to do, the captain decided that this place would be a good hiding spot for a little chest of gold coins that they could leave behind to get later. Usual pirate business.

The men chose a little spot under a certain big tree in the middle of the jungle and soon after, they set sail and faded into the sky, never to return.

All the while, there had been a pair of golden-brown eyes watching them curiously from in the bushes and up in the trees.

* * *

**Author's Note:**Ohhhh wow... A Hetalia fanfiction now? *sigh* Ah well. Here's the method behind my madness: fanart and history of islands. I've been fascinated with the islands of Seychelles recently. Really want to go there SO bad now... When I saw that there was actually involvement between these islands with France and England, which involved France basically selling the islands to England, I became more curious... Yeah, just like a lot of other Hetalia fans, I bet. -_- Of course, the whole idea of the anthropomorphic countries becoming *romantically*involved became an idea and I began to imagine the characters going through a kind of love triangle like that of Pocahontas with John Smith and John Rolfe...

Anyways... this hopefully won't be too long of a thing. I'll do my best to keep the history accurate. In other words, this will be historical. But of course, with the Hetalia flavor still intact. :)

Hope someone enjoys this!


	2. Chapter 1: 1742

**Author's**** Note:** Hey again! Thanks for the reviews I've already gotten! Wow, didn't think they'd appear that quick. XDD Anyways, yeah, title change! You see, it was a working title, and I also changed the description... You'll see why as the story progresses. Well then, I'll let you all get to it!

* * *

Chapter 1

1742

Amirantes wasn't that big of a girl. Like her land, she was tiny but healthy and strong. Although her islands were lush and fertile, there weren't many minerals to mine or natives to colonize, hence the lack of explorers attempting to claim the place as their own. Of course, Amirantes didn't know any of this. She was just living peacefully on her own, making friends with the wildlife, eating the tropical fruit, and swimming on the beach. When strangers did come to explore her islands, she tried to remain hidden, since the sight of foreigners frightened her a little. But of course, she had been spotted a few times, once by some explorers with funny accents. The leader of their group had decided to name her islands the Amirantes, which included naming her that as well.

Even so, many came to visit but few (if any) ever stayed. And those that did stay didn't stay for long. Thus, the little girl found herself growing up alone, with only animals as friends. After 150 years of this kind of living, she wasn't as afraid of other fellow humans, just wary. More than wary, though, was she curious. Every now and then, she would find new hidden items that previous explorers had stowed away on the islands, and she would sit there running her hands through old coins and jewels, wondering if she would ever see another human face at any time soon.

It was a morning just like any other morning, sunny with a nice warm wind blowing through the trees, when Amirantes spotted a few ships heading for her little islands. Excited, she climbed to the top of a large boulder overlooking the islands and was able to see material of blue, red and white waving in the wind. She was so excited at the idea of another human face that she began leaping up and down, waving at the newcomers. As the ships grew closer and closer, she crouched down and peered over the side of the rock's edge to get a better look at the ships below her. She could barely see men running around on the wooden vessels, pulling ropes, shouting at each other, and pointing at her.

The ships soon landed on the shores, and she watched as they slowly lowered a long plank of wood onto the sand and began walking down. They were wearing the oddest things to the little island girl, strange getups of blues and whites and golds with lots of pointy things strapped around their waists. Some of the men had big frilly objects on their heads, which made her giggle. As more of the men began walking around, conversing amongst one another in their strange voices, one man in particular approached Amirantes' rock and stopped right in front of it, looking directly up at her.

She could hear him say something, but what it was, she had no idea. He spoke strangely, in a way that was both alluring yet suspicious. But his eyes, they were what kept her rooted to her spot. They were a lovely blue like the sky, and his hair was the color not unlike the yellow flowers she found around the islands. His eyes were enticing. She peered further and further over the edge down at him as he seemed to smile and began to make waving gestures with his hand. Another one of them came up to the strange man and they shared a brief discussion, which ended in the strange man sending the other man away. He turned back to the island girl and continued to gesture to her. She figured he wanted her to come down. Amirantes hesitated, still wary of foreigners even though she was originally excited. After all, they wore such strange things, their skin was almost as white as the sand and their hair came in different colors. She didn't know what to make of all of this.

The man spread his arms wide and smiled even more broader than before. He began to speak again in a light, airy tone and slowly began to remove the strap around his waist that held all the pointy items. He seemed to be saying: "See? It's all right!"

Amirantes decided to test her luck and slowly began to slide down the rock. One leg after another, she soon landed in the sand and stood up to eye the newcomer warily. He still continued to smile at her, eyes twinkling. In fact, she found his eyes bluer when up close. Placing his hands on his knees, he bent down so that their eyes were level and he spoke again. His voice was musical and silky.

"_Bon jour, ma cherie."_

Amirantes had studied many of the gestures and movements of explorers that had come to her island before. One gesture she had noticed was when someone was confused or reluctant, they moved their shoulders up and down. Since she was feeling extremely confused by this man and his strange speech, she did just that.

The man laughed. _"Oh, ve jois. Vous ne me comprendre! Ah…" _

He cleared his throat and tried a different tactic. "Can you understand me now?"

Her eyes widened and she shrugged again, this time with more fervor.

"Ah…" he sighed. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, trying to think of a way to communicate. After a minute or two, he seemed to come up with an idea. Smiling again, he pointed at her, and then back at himself. When he pointed to himself, he said, "France." When he pointed to her, he raised his eyebrows, as if asking a question.

She tried out the name the previous sailors had given her. "Amirantes."

"Amirantes? Pah! So distasteful…"

She noted to herself that he didn't seem to approve of the name. While he was muttering to himself, she decided to try his name for herself. "Fuh-r-a-n-s…?"

He grinned and tapped his chest. "_Oui! Je suis France!" _

He seemed so happy at her saying his name that she began smiling herself.

"France!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up jovially. This time, the name rolled off of her tongue better. The man laughed and patted her head while she laughed as well, rubbing the hair from off of his forehead.

France, or Francis Bonnefoy as he was personally called, couldn't help but smile as he watched the little island girl interacting with his fellow men. She made rather amusing noises which sort of resembled the chatter of an infant as she walked beside the men, touched their uniforms, as well as laughing at their expressions and their outbursts when she jumped on their backs playfully. It kind of reminded him of a puppy.

France was beginning to believe that setting up colonies on these islands may not have been such a bad idea. It was obvious that his men were becoming more and more enamored with this little stretch of land and her jovial ways. At the moment, she was sitting with a couple of men on the sand, staring in awe as they handed her different items that they carried with them and they laughed as she tried to find some use of things like a compass or a spyglass. No doubt about it, the French were going to try to make these islands a new place for colonization.

_But the name has to go… _he thought, mentally shaking his head. _And I should try to teach her our language a little bit, so we can talk more._

"_Allez! Aller loin! Allez!" _he shouted to the men. They immediately leaped to their feet and began walking away, leaving the girl to her own amusement. "Right! Go build a camp for us or something!" he called.

She still sat there, surrounded by different knicks and knacks the sailors had left with her, intensely studying one of the men's shaving mirrors. When France saw what she was staring at, he chuckled.

"That is a mirror. What you are staring at is a reflection of yourself. It's made by the light hitting the glass." Her eyes were glued to his face as he drew an invisible line from the sun to the mirror. When he met her eyes, he huffed.

"Ah, right. You cannot speak yet. Well, we shall cure you of that, _ma princesse!" _He held out his hand to her. She didn't know what to make of it at first, but then she looked down by her right foot and saw a small photo of a man and a woman together. Looking at it more closely, she could see that the man was standing like France was, holding his hand out to the woman, who was sitting down. Her hand was in his. Amirantes stared at her own hand for a moment. Then, she did just as the woman in the photo did, taking France's hand. He smiled at her kindly and helped pull her up on her feet.

"First things first, _mon petit chou. _I know you cannot understand me, yet. But I have come up with a name for you. Your colony name, I cannot decide on my own, but your own name for yourself to keep? That I can give to you. Your name shall be Michelle Gallaud, for the beautyl that you are." His voice softened as he began caressing her cheek with his thumb. A slight breeze wafted through the air, stirring her long, spiraled hair with his own.

**...**

"What are these?"

"Aiyes."

"Close. _Eyes. _Try again."

Michelle, as France had named her, slowly touched France's eyelids with her fingertips. He smiled, doing the same thing. "Come on. Eyes."

"…Eyes."

"Very good. Now, try this." He tickled the spot behind her earlobe. She flinched, giggling and he smiled, followed by tapping his ear. "What is this?"

After she calmed down, she studied the ear. Her head tilted to the side, making her look absolutely adorable. "I… no…"

"_Ear."_

"Ear…" 

For the next couple of hours, this is how France spent his time: educating Michelle in French. Surprisingly, he found that she was an apt and quick learner. Plus, he found that he was actually enjoying himself watching her form the French syllables and accents and seeing the happy look on her face when she got a word right.

It was starting to grow late, and France could tell that the little island girl was growing sleepy. Her head was beginning to nod, and before they both knew it, she was sound asleep with her head on his shoulder.

"_Ah, bonne nuit , ma tresor." _He smiled as he picked her up to carry her to bed. As he suspected, she hardly weighed a thing.

She suddenly stirred in his arms, her eyes opening slightly to look up at his face. "I'm sleep?"

He chuckled. "_Oui._ You were sleeping. Go back to sleep now. It's all right."

She smiled and snuggled into his chest, feeling completely safe with this man who had been teaching her so many things. He was opening up her world, expanding it, making her realize things she never thought of before. Deep down inside, a part of her was hoping that he'd stay here on the islands with her, and not leave like so many others had done in the past.

France didn't know what to make of this girl. At first, she had just been someone that amused him with her cute expressions and her ignorance of most human activity. But now, he was beginning to feel responsible for her, since he was acting like a tutor to her pretty much, and giving her a name as well. And now, with her smiling in her sleep there in his arms, he wasn't sure how to feel about her.

He and his men had set up several tents on the beach for sleeping. A low fire was burning in the middle of them, giving off a peaceful glow that added to the warm atmosphere. France went into the tent reserved for him and laid the girl down on his cot. As she nestled into the blankets, with that smile still on her face, he bent down and placed a kiss on her forehead. Then he walked out and sat by the fire, mulling over what he was going to do.

**...**

"You are going?" Marguerite asked France a few days later. She had been traversing through the jungle where she originally lived and had found the French sailors packing things up and loading everything onto their big ship.

France was saddened by the confused look in her eyes. He wasn't willing to leave the island himself, but it had to be done in order to report what they had found on the islands - which included Michelle herself. With a sigh, he placed his hands on her slim shoulders and stared into her golden-brown eyes.

"I have to. Forgive me, _ma cher._. My boss will want to know what we have found here, and I will tell him about you. I _will_ try to return as soon as I can. I promise."

She wanted to cry, but she just continued to look at him, memorizing the details of his face.

"In the meantime, here, take this."

He bent down and reached into a trunk that was at their feet. After rummaging through it for a few seconds, he pulled out a leather-bound book and handed it to her. "This will help you continue in your French studies. I want you to be able to speak as well as the rest of us when we get back!" He gave her one of his winning cheeky smiles which made her grin back at him.

"I'm serious! If you can't quote this book line from line when I return, I will be most displeased!"

She laughed. "All right. I will have it learned. But you have to come back!" 

He nodded. Then, for a few minutes, they just stood there, unsure of what to say.

He spoke. "I decided to leave other provisions for you as well. I do not know if they will be of any use, but they are there in case you need any thing…"

There had been a tent with a chest of different items (which included small melee weapons) left on the beach for the very purpose he had just said. She glanced at the tent and nodded.

_"Merci."_

It grew quiet again. France could hear the many calls of the men wanting to set sail, but he didn't want to leave. Just standing there, watching this lovely girl, would have been just fine with him. But he knew that wasn't possible, so with one final sigh, he reached out to her and placed his hand on her neck. Drawing close to her, he placed a lingering kiss on her forehead and whispered his goodbye before turning to leave.

The boat was sailing away in a matter of minutes, and the island girl found herself alone again. But this time, she didn't feel so alone. Glancing over at the tent and down at the book in her hand, she was comforted in knowing that the man called France would be back. Even though she didn't know when, she knew he would be back.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, that's the second chapter! I probably won't have two notes in each chapter like this, by the way. Just wanted to clear some things up. 1). I'm _not _fluent in French. I mean, AT ALL. So, the little bits you see were found online and I apologize in advance if they're not accurate. But come one, it's France. You've gotta use French at least some, especially in this scenario.

Also, the underlined dialogue is supposed to mean that they are talking in French, but I just didn't feel like trying to write it all in French. So, maybe that's a good thing. ;)

Lastly, the flowers I mentioned were supposed to refer to the praslin island flowers that are found on the actual islands. You can google them, and you'll find some lovely yellow ones.

So, that's all! Hope you like this new addition to this story! :D


	3. Chapter 2: 1768

Chapter 2

1768

The French had visited Michelle's islands from time to time following that first exploration by France. She had happily welcomed the men each time they came, showing them around the islands and telling them of the riches the islands gave. At one point in time, there had been two ships that came to visit led by a man named Nicholas Morphey.

"Thank you for being so kind," he said when she happily showed them a good area for setting up camp. "Mr. France did tell us that you were a lovely young lady, but I don't think he did you justice."

His comment admittedly pleased her a little. "_Merci!__" _she exclaimed.

He smiled. "Your French is very good! Did Mr. France teach you?"

She nodded. "He leant me books so I could study the language myself. Speaking of France, do you know if he is well?"

The man sighed and hesitated for a minute. Marguerite's eyes widened and she suddenly became frightened. She clasped her hands tightly and worried at her lip while Morphey shook his head.

"Well, you see my dear, our country found himself in a terrible war with England. We're hard-pressed for other lands that can give us resources, and we were hoping that you would help us."

She nodded. "If France needs something and I can help, I will do all that is possible!"

He laughed. "We greatly appreciate it. Mr. France will as well."

Michelle smiled to herself. The idea of pleasing France made her strangely happy.

Morphey and his men didn't stay for long. After all, there was a war waging at the moment. Before he left, however, he approached the island girl with some news.

"My dear, do you know why we came here in the first place?"

She shook her head, curious.

"Well, Mr. France and our commanders sent us here to claim you as a part of our country. You will now be granted your own name as a future colony of France. You will be the Seychelles!"

_Seychelles… it's actually quite lovely!_ she thought. Now that she was being seen as her own independent land, the prospect of having her own name was exciting.

"So, what do you think of it?"

"It's very nice! Thank you!"

_Seychelles… The islands of Seychelles…_

Seychelles, as she was now called, rested upon the rocks along the shoreline of one of her specific islands that the French had named _Mahé._ She was rather bored, with nothing to do other than look at the books and other trinkets that the French had left with her. The problem was, she had looked over these items several times already. The language books didn't help her either, since she had practically taught herself the language by this time.

More than being bored, though, was the feeling of loneliness. She missed him.

_ You promised you'd come back… So where are you?_

Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She didn't want to think bad of France, but he had promised to come see her again. It had been so long since she had seen his face and heard his voice. She began to fear that he may have never meant to keep his promise. The idea of her never seeing him again made the tears flow faster and she buried her face in her arms.

After a couple of minutes of sobbing, she fell asleep.

**... ... ...**

Seychelles stirred from a deep sleep, still feeling lonely and depressed. She raised her head from her arms, rubbed the crust out of her eyes and sat up, sighing.

"My, my. What has caused my little friend to sigh in such a way?"

Seychelles gasped and quickly turned to see the very person she was longing for sitting on the rock next to her. Sitting there, reading a book, he looked pretty much the same as ever. The wind blew his golden hair around his face. His blue eyes twinkled at her in the sunlight, though they looked a little brighter than normal. He wore a simple white billow-sleeved shirt and breeches, and his feet were bare. To Seychelles, he was beautiful.

"France!" she cried. Overjoyed, she threw her arms around him. Being back in his arms again felt so good, it made tears spring into her eyes. She began to whimper and sniffle.

France was surprised. "What is this? Tears? Don't cry, _ma cher_." He rubbed his hand across her back, trying to comfort her.

She pulled away, rubbing her eyes. "Forgive me, but I've missed you so much, France!"

He smiled. "I've missed you too. But not to worry, I'll be here for a while this time! We're here to help you and your island grow healthier and stronger! You've told us that there are plenty of resources for living, so we thought of cultivating those resources. With your help, of course."

Her face lit up with a dazzling smile. To be able to help him and be with him was the greatest pleasure she could ever wish for. Straight away, she answered. "Of course I'll help you! Anything you need, France, I will do everything in my power to assist you!"

He laughed. Admittedly, France had missed this girl as well. He had especially missed her happy attitude and sprightly spirit. Girl? More like woman. She definitely had grown up since he last saw her; grown up into a beautiful young woman. He stretched his arms out toward her and she gave him another hug. This time around, she noticed that he seemed thinner than she remembered. Come to think of it, when she looked up at him, his face seemed paler than before and shrunken in a bit as well.

"France, are you all right? You're quite thin… You're not sick, are you?"

His smile was a bit sad. "We didn't do so well in the war. We lost a lot of land and allies. But not to worry, we'll pick ourselves up again, especially with your help."

Seychelles had never been happier. Now that the French were here, she felt alive again. Being alone for so long had caused her to feel listless and apathetic. But now that France and his countrymen were here and making good use of the islands' produce, she felt like she was important. She wasn't just a forgotten speck on a map anymore. People were actually acknowledging her existence and treating her like she was worth something, even if that something was only a small something.

There was also France himself. He had come to mean so much to her. His kind eyes, his smile, his laughter, it all had become so dear. And even though he was busy a lot of the time along with the others, he always found time to talk with her. Most of the time, though, she followed him around. He didn't seem to mind at all.

"Why do you need the tortoises?" she asked him one day as they watched some men put the animals in cages.

"They are good for food, even if they're hard to cook." He laughed at the thought. "Whenever you try to kill them, they just duck into their shells and it becomes a waiting game. It can get very tiresome."

Seychelles thought about the idea of killing the tortoises. How France had described it seemed a bit cruel, but on the other hand, they did have to eat something.

France had noticed that she had become quiet. He bent down and peered up at her face. "Is everything all right? Did my turtle-killing explanation upset you?"

She giggled and shoved his face away. "Only a little bit. But I will be fine."

France nodded and took her hand. "Here. I will show you what else we have found."

He led her to a part of the jungle where some men were picking different plants and putting them in crates. France picked some of the green stuff out of a crate and held it up for her to see.

"Clove. And here we have…" He walked over to another crate and ran his hand through an exorbitant amount of seeds. "Nutmeg. These are good for cooking as well."

Seychelles ran her hands through the crops, picked them up and sniffed the plants and seeds. She had known that these islands had resources, but she hadn't know how much. France watched her quietly with a thoughtful smile on his face. After a few moments, he gently took her by the forearm and they went back to the campsite together.

"Since you've become a part of us, I guess you could say I am like your older brother now, Seychelles!"

They were sitting by the fire as the sun was going down. Seychelles had been given a blanket to wrap around her shoulders and she was nestled up against France's shoulder.

"What's a big brother?" she asked.

"Well, it's like you've become someone special. It's now my job to look after you and make sure you're safe and healthy. I can't let anything happen to you."

Her heart began to beat faster. "I would like that," she said quietly.

Happily, France wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I like it too, _cherie._"

She looked up into his face. The light cast shadows and colors of oranges across his jaw, eyes, cheeks and nose. It was such a lovely face, she thought. She reached up to touch it.

"France?"

"You can call me big brother now, if you want."

She tried it out. "Big brother France?"

"Yes?"

She hesitated. There was a question she had been meaning to ask him since his first day on the islands but for some reason, the words never could come out. After stalling for a few seconds, she spoke.

"Do you know what love is?"

He smiled. "I think I can guess what it is pretty well."

"I read about it in one of the books you gave me, and I was wondering if you had a good explanation for what it was."

He looked up into the sky to formulate a good answer. "I would say that love is a feeling. A feeling like no other, where you cannot explain it, but you have a desire to be with a certain person above all others, and you want to do everything you can to make sure they're happy. Even if it means you are not. But more than that, I think love is also a choice one has to make to give your everything to that person, and not expecting anything in return. You have to choose to love, I think. And also, you have to choose to stay with that person, until the end."

France looked back down at her. "Did that make any sense?"

She nodded and buried her face in his shoulder.

_Love… To desire to make someone happy without expecting anything in return… To choose to love them until the end, even when they don't love you back… _

She took hold of one of his hands and squeezed it. Love sounded so amazing, and yet, so hard at the same time. Did she love this man sitting next to her? If so, then why did she love him? Because he was kind? Handsome? Friendly and open? How does it feel to love someone? He said one desires to be with a certain person over anyone else. She certainly felt that toward him. Did love also mean extreme sadness when that person leaves you? Longing for them to return, and hoping that they are safe?

As Seychelles lay in her cot that had been set up for her in the Frenchmen's campsite, she pondered all these questions until her eyes grew heavy and she drifted off to sleep.

It was Christmastime, or so France had said. Seychelles watched as the men gathered round their campfire, drinking wine and eating tortoise while one of them plucked away at a device they called a violin. France explained to her what Christmas was: a time of celebration where people and their loved ones spent time together giving each other gifts and enjoying each other's company. France also mentioned that Someone very important was supposed to be born on Christmas day, a long time ago.

The men began to sing songs in French, and the music left Seychelles in awe. She had never heard real singing before. With the violin music in the background, she closed her eyes to focus on their songs of peace and adoration. Some were sung in French, but many others were in Latin, a language that was mysterious to her. During the gentle words of:

_Les anges dans nos campagnes_  
_Ont entonné l'hymne des cieux;_  
_Et l'écho de nos montagnes_  
_Redit ce chant mélodieux._  
_Gloria, in excelsis Deo,_  
_Gloria, in excelsis Deo_

France turned to notice that the island girl had fallen asleep on his shoulder, lulled to slumber by the joyful song.

France carried Seychelles to her sleeping area and gently tucked her in. Before leaving, he smoothed her hair away from her face. She stirred and her eyes slid open.

"Good night, Seychelles," he whispered.

She took hold of his hand. "Wait."

He stopped and faced her. "What is it?"

"Do you love me?"

He paused for a minute. Then, bending down, he placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead. "I love you very much, _ma petite perle._"

A smile spread across her face. "Goodnight," she murmured.

Her hand slid from his and he left the tent to retire to his own. Sighing, he stared up at the top of his tent, deep in thought. He and his men had stayed on the islands for at least two years now, almost three, and yet they still did not have much to show for it. Time on the islands had been wonderful, but they had been sent to get provisions and to try and start a colony or a farm. Neither had worked well. He didn't want to tell Seychelles this, in fear of upsetting her, and upsetting her was the last thing he would ever want. Also, about her, France had no idea what he was going to do. The thought of leaving her here alone was almost too hard to bear. He felt like he would be abandoning her again. He felt like he would be a bad big brother in doing so, but what else could he do other than promise her he would try to come back?

_Perhaps I could try to arrange some of our people to come here and start a colony! There's plenty of provisions, and the timber we got could be used to build homes. I'll be sure to tell my boss and perhaps we can work something out. I don't want her to be alone again._

She had asked him if he loved her. That question had thrown him off guard. He did love her, but he wasn't sure if he loved her in the way she was thinking of. Right now, to him she was the girl who had childishly peered down at him over the edge of those rocks the first day that they met.

_Seychelles, I am sorry. But I do not think I love you in the same way you may love me…_

He rubbed his hands across his face and blew his lantern out with one big puff before bedding down for the night.

Their goodbye to each other was a quiet one. France's mind was weighed with many thoughts, of which Seychelles was a part. There was a piece of him that felt guilty every time she stared at him with her big brown eyes, longingly, full of a love he wasn't sure he could return. He also knew that she was inwardly saddened by the fact that he had to leave again.

And yet, she said nothing to that extent. When he had told her that he and his men had to head back to their home, she just nodded and held his hand tightly. France could see the inner strength she embodied as they stood on the shore, watching the men board their ships.

France turned to her. "I have decided to send some people over here to start a colony. You won't be alone anymore."

The thought brightened her mood a little. She always was happy to meet new people and to get to know their ways and what they were like. And yet…

"That will be good. It will be nice to have actual people living here."

He nodded. "They will mostly be French, so you won't have to worry about understanding them."

"I see."

There was a pause. Then she took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around him. She couldn't help it. She had promised herself not to make a scene when he left, but she couldn't let him leave without embracing him first. He hugged her back.

Before letting go, she raised her head and whispered in his ear, "I love you, France."

He touched her hair and placed a kiss on both her cheeks. "Thank you, Seychelles... I do not know when I will be back, but I will try to return as soon as I can."

_Tell me you'll miss me. Tell me you love me and that you hate leaving. Oh, how I wish you would say __**something**__ like that…_

,But he didn't, and she didn't voice any of her thoughts, only nodded as they pulled away from each other. As she watched his ship sail away until it became nothing but a tiny speck, she told herself that everything would be all right. There would be people coming to live with her. She would have new friends and new things to do. She absolutely refused to dwell on the feelings of regret on being an island in a remote part of the world away from France and his home. She would not think about anything depressing.

Little did she know, but that would be the last that she would see of France for several years.

* * *

**Author's** **Note:**

**EDIT**: Due to a comment by Captain-Awesomesauce, I have removed the "Silent Night" reference. Turns out I need to brush up on my history of Christmas carols! :D And they gave me an actual song that did exist in the 1760's. Thanks for the head's up, mate! **:END EDIT**

All right guys! How y'all doin? Well, another chapter, another progression in this little tale. And I want to say that listening to the soundtracks of _Jane Eyre _and _Girl with a Pearl Earring _really help in writing this.

Just thought I'd mention something: Seychelles was explored by Morphey and named the Isle of Seychelles by him after a French officer of Finances in 1754. But I didn't want to make a little mini chapter solely on that info alone, so I just stuck it in the beginning of this chapter. The main scenario of this chapter takes place between 1768-1769 after the Seven Year's War between France and England. in '68-'69, France visited the islands a lot to get provisions and spice trades. To sum up, France began to see the potential the islands had for their benefit.

Yeah, so that's that. I hope this chapter didn't get too boring, or that the love that blossoms in our heroine doesn't seem too forced.. That's kind of a worry of mine. ^^;; Let me know what y'all think!

Cheers!


	4. Chapter 3: 1794

**Author's Note:** Hey, y'all! Finally a new chapter! :D Sorry it took a while. What with graduating college and moving and all, it took a while to finish this chapter, but it's done now (thank God!). So, btw, I have a lot more French in this. Don't know how accurate it is, but I tried. XDD If it's bad, let me know! And yeah, there be some language here, but I try not to incorporate much, as I don't really like using expletives, but I figured it was a good addition since... you know... Arthur IS English after all. XDD Ok, enjoy! Tell me what y'all think! :3

* * *

Chapter 3

1794

"Damn it all!" The English representative, Arthur Kirkland, swiped his hand across his massive desk, knocking several study tools to the ground. Things had been very frustrating for the country of England in the past couple of decades - what with the War of Independence against America and now the Napoleonic Wars against France. Really, fighting against those two countries that he had the most trouble with was terribly vexing.

The worst part about it was the fact that that England has lost a very good amount of land now that America was his own country. What had possessed him to want to become independent? It was completely ungrateful of him! Hadn't England fed him, clothed him, and raised him like a son? True, America had asked for a little more freedom and had tried to reason that the taxes and laws England had been putting on him were a bit restricting, but England could be reasonable! What did America know? Calling him pigheaded and unwilling to listen or grant requests? How utterly ridiculous!

These kind of disagreements had led to war and the young, strong America had beaten him. It was all so very annoying. It used to sadden England since he had really seen America as a real son, but now it just left him bitter. And now, as if it couldn't get any worse, those bloody frogs were threatening to overrun England at the helm of that puny Napoleon Bonaparte… All right, he wasn't exactly puny, but England and his fellow Brits liked to joke that he was.

As England sat there in his office fuming over past and present troubles, there was a sudden knock on the door. He scrambled to pick up the various maps and trinkets that littered the floor before calling, "Come in!"

"Beg your pardon, Sir," a gentleman with a substantial mustache opened the door, nodding respectfully. "But we have news on what France has been up to. Thought you would like to see."

England stood. "Quite! I would indeed, if you would be so kind as to show me, Thompson."

"Very good, sir."

England followed Thompson out of his office into an open meeting room where several men sat at a large dining table looking over maps. When England approached the table, each man stood and greeted him cordially. He responded with friendly nods. Then he spoke.

"So gentlemen, what of France?"

One of the men pointed to the continent of Africa on a large map. He said, "According to our naval men, France has set up a colony on one of these islands off the coast of Africa. He has been using it as a hideout for many privateers."

England raised his brows. "Aren't those islands near the island Mauritius?"

The man nodded. "They are, in fact. It's not that big of an area, but it may help us in importing goods and cutting off another safe haven for France and his men. Perhaps we should look into it?"

A small smile spread across England's face. _Finally! Something new to do! _

Even though the wars were waging, he had he had been required to stay back to help the English government in dealing with matters concerning the war. But this - capturing a small bed of islands from France - surely he could go and do that himself?

"What are these islands called? Did they give them a name?"

"I think the islands are called the Seychelles."

"Hmm. Very French," England said sardonically.

The other men chuckled. "Indeed. Well, sir?" Thompson said, "What do you think? Should we look into it?"

"I think we should," he decided. "In fact, as soon as I get permission from my boss, I shall head up the expedition myself."

"Very good, sir. I shall inform His Majesty right away."

England nodded in assent. Although he didn't look it, he was inwardly shaking with excitement. He couldn't wait to board a ship and see new land - even if it was a land colonized by France.

"Those poor little islands shall be rescued from that foppish git and experience some real civilization. Whoever they are, they've probably been seduced by that twat and are submitting to his every whim. Poor thing." He shook his head, already feeling pity for whoever-they-were. "After all, they are a bunch of tiny islands secluded from everyone else. It's not like they know any better."

As England walked back to his office thinking on how he would save those poor islands from their ignorance, he didn't realize that what he was saying somewhat reflected on his own circumstances.

When the English came in view of the Seychelles, the islanders were prepared for trouble. Since most of the islanders were French, they were automatically wary of the English. But they knew it wasn't worth fighting, especially since there were hardly any real soldiers stationed on the islands and they didn't want to lose anybody or any thing from battle. So they waited, expecting the worse.

England studied the land from his spyglass, inwardly admitting that even though the area was small, it was beautiful even from afar. His men seemed to think so too.

"It's a paradise," one of them whispered. "How did the French get their hands on this?"

"Because it was there for the taking," England said. "No one else bothered to even acknowledge its existence, really."

"Do you think it's worth disputing with France over possession of these islands?"

England smirked. "Well, we could always use it for our holidays."

His men laughed and soon they prepared to land. They weren't planning to attack on sight since it looked like there weren't any militia on guard. And yet, they did bring their weapons along as a message. After all, they were preparing to take these islands from France.

_I wonder if that git is around here somewhere,_ England mused. _Also, I wonder what this little colony looks like. Will he put up a fight? Will he be just as foppish as France? I'm sure France claimed this colony as a younger brother… Oh, please God, let him not be like France! _

They found the islands to be well-inhabited mainly by French people and their slaves. What used to be thick jungle had been partially cleared away to make settlements and plantations for produce such as coconuts and spices. Even so, there was still plenty of vegetation and the jungle was still large enough to get lost in. The French hadn't completely overrun the natural beauty of the island.

The man whom England supposed was the leader of the colony for the time being, came up to meet them, holding a glass of wine as a peace offering.

"_Bon jour, messieurs. _You are English, are you not?"

"That is correct. I see you all have been making progress here," England said, taking the glass. He looked around as he sipped the wine, taking mental notes at the people, the farming, and the produce that was to be had here.

He finished the drink and handed back the glass. "Thank you. Now, is France here?"

The man shook his head. "_Non, _he is away. He is the one who put me in charge. These plantations you've seen were started by his orders."

"I see. And what is it you farm here?"

"Well sir, we farm such things as cinnamon, clove, coconuts as well as marine life. There isn't anything like gold or other metals here, but the land is quite fertile."

England nodded and began to mull over all of this. Was this place worth acquiring? True, it would make a nice spot for commercial travel, but at the same time, he understood why other countries hadn't bothered to own this land.

_Even so… _He looked around. The islands were admittedly the most beautiful lands he had ever seen. Being an island himself, he loved the ocean and the clear, turquoise waters with their smooth white shores dazzled him. The warm weather felt good after coming from a land where it rained a lot of the time. The plants were green and lush, and who knows what interesting animals could be found in the thick jungle brush?

_It may not be entirely practical, _he thought, _but dash it all, it's still worth the taking!_

The French leader was conversing with some of England's officers and the group was ushered into the small center of the colony, where they could enter the leader's house and receive refreshments. There they learned that their host's name was Queau de Quincy.

"I suppose you have come here to invade us?"

The men were sitting around a makeshift table, feasting on a meal of tortoise, fish and fresh fruit. There were a couple of slaves standing by waiting until the men needed their glasses filled again.

England took a bite of some pineapple before speaking. "You suppose correctly."

Queau de Quincy nodded sadly. "We don't have many weapons or anything to defend ourselves, so you won't have any obstacle to stop you. All I ask is that you deal with us kindly and we won't put up a fight."

England watched the man closely as he picked at his meat, wondering if he was planning anything underhanded. The English and the French hated each other and had been rivals for a very long time, so England knew France wouldn't stand by and let England claim this beautiful spot without a fight - nor the French people for that matter.

He decided to play along with whatever game the man might have going and shrugged. "We won't harm anyone."

The man smiled and thanked him. "Would you like a place to sleep? I wouldn't mind putting you up for the night."

_I'm sure you wouldn't, _England thought. "Thanks, but we'll set up camp by our ship. We wouldn't want to inconvenience you." _Bloody frog…_

Their host continued to smile as he seceded his offer. "Do as you wish. I'm sure we will talk some more tomorrow."

England rose along with the other men. "Yes we shall. Bid you good night, then."

Queau de Quincy gave a brisk nod and the Englishmen headed for their ship where they would set up tents on the beach. As he watched the English walk away, his smile faded.

"Damn English."

England helped his men set up their tents and they built a substantial fire for the night. England stood by the fire, looking toward the lit buildings of the town and frowned.

"Bloody French."

**...**

The next morning, the English had stationed their men on guard of the island to watch if France would return and to watch over the people. This worried the islanders a little, but the English didn't start anything suspicious. They continued to rest at their camp by the shore and monitored what the French and their slaves did to live.

England, in the meantime, was sitting in his tent writing an entry in his travel log about the islands. He had been quite impressed with everything he had witnessed so far and yet, something bothered him.

_I have yet to meet France's little brother, Seychelles, himself. A part of me is a bit concerned that I haven't met him yet. I begin to wonder if he is hiding somewhere, playing a prank on us where he shall take us by surprise while we are asleep…_

_**Clink!**_ England's head jerked up at the sound of metal hitting the wood of their fire pit. He rose and peered out of his tent. There was no one there, but there were signs that someone had been rummaging around the camp, looking at the men's belongings.

_Those damn French!_ _What are they up to?_

England grabbed his belt, which had his sword and revolver strapped to it, and looped it around his waist. He didn't want to attack anyone, but if it wasn't one of the French, it could have been a wild animal. He didn't want to take any chances. As he looked around the fire pit for signs of anything out of the ordinary, he spotted some movement out of the corner of his eye. There was the sound of rustling leaves and he caught a glimpse of a pair of dark, human eyes peering out at him through the thicket.

"Oi!"

The eyes disappeared.

"Hey! I saw you! I saw you! Come out of there right now!"

There was more rustling and the sound of running.

"I say! Come back here! Hold it!"

Without a second thought, he charged into the brush after the mysterious stranger. The leaves and twigs slapped his face and he lost his footing a couple of times. The ground was moist and mud splattered onto his shirt when he fell, but that didn't stop him and he continued running. The brush grew thick and he slashed away at branches, barreling through nonstop, though most of the branches slapped him back in the face. At one point, when he stopped to catch his breath, he realized that he couldn't spot the stranger anywhere. He found himself utterly alone.

"Hello?" he called. He was answered with silence.

There was a bird call somewhere in the trees. He jerked his head upwards and saw nothing but leaves. There was a rustling in the bushes to his left and he darted his eyes that way.

"Hey!" he cried again. "Come on, this isn't funny! Come on out!"

He heard a hissing sound behind him and he immediately turned around. He couldn't see what made the sound and he was beginning to panic. If it was a poisonous snake or something like that, he was in trouble. He knew he had to stay calm, however, so he slowly backed away from the weird noise. Suddenly, a sticky substance was caught on the back of his neck and head.

"Ack!" He flailed, ripping the stuff off of his head and neck only to find that it was a giant spider web. Shaken, he became more and more nervous with each sound of a bug or a twig crack. A branch caught on his sleeve and he struggled to free himself, swearing all the while. His fight with the blasted tree caused him to loose his footing and he began to tumble head over heels downhill. The fall caused him to ram into a tree at one point.

"ARGH!"

The crash only stopped his roll for a moment but he soon picked up momentum again and rolled down until his face hit the water of a stream.

"Aw, bollocks," he groaned. He slowly rolled over on his back and just stared up at the trees, panting. Judging by the sharp pains he felt every time he gasped for breath, he figured he had broken some ribs from hitting that blasted tree.

There was a tree to the right of him and he decided to crawl over to it so he could prop himself up into a sitting position. If he was sitting up, he could see things better and defend himself with more of a fight. He kept his eyes on the tree as he slowly sat up. The pain was nearly unbearable.

"Oh bloody…" he continually muttered obscenities as he began dragging himself by his bottom to the tree trunk. Once his back touched the wood, he tried to exhale a nice, long breath but it hurt too much and his breathing came out ragged and shallow.

_What am I going to do?_

There was a sudden flap of wings; then a sound of twigs cracking. England became suddenly alert. He knew that if it was a wild animal, he was in a venerable position to fight, although he did have his pistol and a sword if things became dire. Sweat mixed with stream water beaded his forehead as the sounds of an approaching creature came toward him. Even though it hurt to breathe, his breaths were continually coming out shallow and quick and he tried to breathe through his nose. With a flick of his arm, his pistol was out and he loaded it. Sweat now trickled down his back and beaded under his nose. The footsteps came closer. He slowly raised his arm and raised his pistol in the direction of the oncoming sound.

What emerged from the thicket was not what he expected. In fact, he wondered if he was hallucinating from the pain for a moment.

It was a woman; curvaceous and slim, wearing a white skirt trimmed in bright orange with a white top that tied around her neck. She was barefoot and her hair was tied into two long pigtails with red ribbons. England could only stare at her as he slowly lowered his gun, blinking. She, in turn, looked at him with curiosity. Neither of them said anything as she lowered down on her knees next to him and studied him quietly.

She suddenly spoke, _"Etes-vous tout droit?"_

He winced. "Oh, of course. You're French. Um, _je… je veux absurdes?_"

Her eyes widened and she scooted closer, placing her hand on his forehead. This was rather sudden for England and he fidgeted under this young woman's gaze. He began to notice such things like the golden flecks in her brown eyes, the sheen of light on her skin, and the outline and shape of her full lips.

"Uh, I say, look here…"

"_Ou aves-vous mal?"_

England frowned. Obviously, he wasn't exactly fluent in French. He could pick out words and sometimes phrases, but when it was spoken as fast as she was talking at the moment, he was totally clueless. She asked the question again, but he was starting to feel the pain increase. He was going to try and answer her, but when he took a breath to get some words out, the pains in his chest became too intense. He gritted his teeth and moaned.

Seychelles started to worry. "_Ce qu'il est? Hm?"_

He shook his head and placed his hand on his chest.

She immediately began checking the area he had pointed to. When she opened his shirt she in turn winced. His chest was covered in black and blue bruises. She gingerly touched the bruised areas and she could feel where the ribs were broken and out of place.

_I need to get him back to the other Englishmen… Can he walk? We're going to have to try._

She took hold of his arm and slowly wrapped it around her shoulders. He grunted and did his best to move his legs in order to stand on his feet. She helped lift him up with her other arm around his waist. There was a lot of groans and cursing as he rose to his feet, but they were up in a few minutes with him leaning on Seychelles and she slowly began walking forward with him dragging his feet along in a feeble attempt to walk.

She did stumble every now and then, what with him dragging his feet. This would cause him to painfully cry out and Seychelles tried to practically pull him along.

_We can make it. I'll get him back to camp. I will! … My, is he heavy!_

His head drooped down to his chest and she knew he was unconscious from the pain and shock. She wrapped both arms around his upper chest and began dragging him backwards out of the jungle.

"Master Kirkland!" The English soldiers had been looking for him and had been about to search the jungle when they saw Seychelles coming out dragging him along. He was immediately taken from her and to the town where he received medical attention. Seychelles followed them and hovered near the door of the house that England had been placed in, watching as a French doctor studied his injuries and began bandaging his ribs up. There wasn't much he could do besides that. England would have to rest for a few days in order for his broken bones to patch up.

**...**

Seychelles studied the Englishman who was sleeping at the moment. She had seen him from afar when he and the other Englishmen had first landed on her islands and she didn't think much of any of them. After all, they were English. France had told her about the English: they were stuffy, full of themselves and had bad food, not to mention bad teeth.

And now she was sitting beside an English man. Up close, he definitely did not have the beauty that France embodied. His hair was short and shaggy over his eyes, the color of sunlight in the early morning. He was paler than France as well. What stood out the most to her were his scraggly, thick eyebrows. She giggled at the utter ridiculousness of how thick they were and decided to reach over and smooth them out. Just as her hand was about to touch his forehead, he stirred and opened his eyes.

She gasped and quickly drew her hand back. He frowned and focused his full attention on her.

"Hello. You're the one from the jungle, aren't you?"

She tilted her head. A perplexed frown was on her face. _"Pardon?"_

He sighed exasperatedly. "_You,_" he pointed at her, "were the one running," he made running gestures (a funny sight, seeing as how he was all bandaged up, lying in a bed), "in the jungle!" He pointed in the direction of the jungle from where they had emerged earlier.

"_Ah," _she nodded, as if she understood him. She didn't completely, but she got the gist of what he was saying. _"Oh, oui! Vous avez été drôle!"_ Seychelles laughed, remembering how he had charged after her into the thicket, yelling all the while.

His frown deepened. "I don't see what is so funny about any of this!" Really, not only was he bandaged up and confined to his bed, but now he had a woman who spoke French (who was probably French) laughing at his discomfort. England was getting grumpier by the second.

But his foul mood just made her laugh more. She really did feel bad for him, but he had put on a comical act with the way he had acted those few hours ago. Seychelles began to wonder if all English people were so hot-headed and rash. He was now beginning to look really put out, so she heaved one or two sighs to calm herself down before speaking. "_Ah, vous pauvre chose! Desole! Vous serez tout droit! Oui?"_ She good-naturedly patted his hand in assurance. A sweet smile was on her face.

Her sudden change from teasing to caring manners put England off guard a little and he just brusquely turned his head, clearing his throat.

"Ahem. Yes, well... I say, I'm a bit thirsty. Do you mind fetching me some water? Or tea, if you can?"

She blinked at him.

He sighed.

"_De l'eau? The? S'il vous plait?"_

She sprung from her seat. "_Oh! De l'eau! Oui!" _

England watched her as she darted out of the room. Running a hand through his hair, he wondered who the girl really was. She had dark skin like the many slaves that the French cared for on the islands, but she didn't seem like a slave. She didn't appear to have any masters or someone to look after her, and she acted more like a real Frenchwoman of higher class, not a lowly peasant or slave girl. She also looked relatively young.

_Late adolescence? Perhaps early adulthood? Hm. I wonder if France has met her…_

The said girl came back carrying a tin cup of water. Well, it wasn't tea, but England wasn't going to complain. The fresh water felt good on his dry throat.

"Now then," he spoke up. When he turned his head to look at her, she was sitting at the doctor's desk, analyzing his notes and medical instruments. She was gingerly running her slim fingers along the different scalpels, tubes and other items. She lifted one open bottle to her nose and sniffed it, wincing as she jerked her head back. England couldn't help but chuckle at her reactions to the different items.

"Who are you, anyway?"

She turned toward him, eyes wide. "_Ce que?"_

He raised his eyes skyward. _Good lord…_ _So French. _"You!" he pointed at her. "Who. Are. You?"

She pointed to herself. "_Moi? Qui suis-je? Je suis Seychelles!"_

England started. "What? _You _are Seychelles?"

She laughed. "_Oui! Je suis Seychelles! Ou Michelle." _When she finished speaking, she couldn't help but smile to herself. The way she had just answered this Englishman reminded her of when she had first met her dear France. She sighed. The thought of France left her feeling sentimental, and admittedly a little sad. He hadn't been to see her for a long while. Once again, she began to wonder if he had forgotten about her. He had left many resources and helpful people for her and kept her safe, so she didn't feel completely neglected. Even so, she wished he, himself could be with her more often.

_But, of course, that is wishful thinking. He probably has more important things to do than visit me…_

England noticed how quiet she had grown. Watching her, he also noticed that she seemed to grow sad. She kept her eyes down and slowly stroked the vial of medicine she held in her hands. He wondered what she was thinking.

_Sadness doesn't become her, _he decided.

With a couple of grunts and groans, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and hoisted himself up on his feet. There was a cane to his right and he grabbed it. Using it as a crutch, he hobbled over to the girl's side. He ignored her complaints against him being out of bed and poked her forehead.

"You. Don't be so bloody sad all of a sudden. Since you're the Seychelles, you'd be the best guide around these islands. Now," he straitened his back and raised his head high, even though his sides throbbed in complaint. She blinked at him, confusedly. "You are going to show me some highlights of this town." He pointed outside.

His language was so foreign to her. He had an interesting way of speaking, though. It was so … proper and precise. As he looked down at her, she began to understand why France and his fellow Frenchmen despised the English so much. With one look, this man made her feel like she was nothing; a mere bug that he could squash with his boot heel. She felt inferior, and it stung. With her own little sense of pride hurting, she clenched her fists and began to march out of the doctor's office. She had a feeling he wouldn't like this.

He didn't. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. "I told you to show me around the place! Hey!" He hobbled over to her and grabbed her shoulder. "Don't turn your back on me!"

She spun around and shot some words back at him in French. Her cheeks had a faint hint of blush on them and tears were brimming in her eyes. He didn't catch exactly what she said, but he gathered that she didn't like the superior attitude that he had shown. Well, tough. As a colony of France, she would learn that in war the English had to be hard on those they were about to capture. There would be no room for rebellion as a result.

She began to walk away and he followed. Her pace grew faster and faster and it was hard for him to catch up.

"Come now, let's be reasonable!" he called out, hobbling behind. He began to run out of breath and his sides were hurting with each step he took. By the time he caught up to her, he found that they were at the shoreline, near his ship. She had her back turned toward him and she didn't face him when he came to her side.

As he struggled to catch his breath and tried to ignore the sharp pains in his sides, his eyes strayed to the girl's face. Her jaw was set and she wiped away tears that rolled down her cheeks. He could tell that she was holding in the sobs that were trying to come out by the firm jaw and the continual working of her throat. At this rate, he wouldn't be getting any help or alliance from her.

_All right, then, let's try a different tactic. _How did France win her over into becoming a colony? England inwardly rolled his eyes. Knowing him, Francis Bonnefoy (even the name sounded girly), he probably had wooed her to his side with wine and flowers or some such nonsense. Trying any move that the foppish country may have tried made England squirm with discomfort, but if he was to claim Seychelles as his own, he had to think as France would think.

But that frightened him. As his inner wheels turned, a sudden thought dawned on him. _Perhaps if I tried to treat her with the same kindness that I showed America when he was young… _It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

He raised his head and sighed. Shifting his crutch from one side to the other, he reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I am sorry for being so rash," he said quietly.

She sniffled and slowly turned toward him. Blinking, her gaze traveled from the hand on her bare shoulder to the man of whom it belonged to. When her eyes met his, she suddenly realized that they were a vivid green - like the leaves of the palm trees.

He spoke again. "Perhaps I should begin again." He smiled. "Would you be so kind as to show me around your home?"

His voice was kind, but she still couldn't understand. "_Desole…_ _Je ne comprends pas…"_

Her bewildered expression made him laugh a little. Pointing to the town, he tried again. "The town? Show me?"

She seemed to understand a little better this time. With a few more sniffles, she nodded. "_Oui. Je vous montrerai… Mais…"_ She rested her hand on his chest and looked at him concernedly. "_Êtes vous-tout droit?"_

"I gather that you're concerned about my well-fare. Not to worry, my dear. I'll be fine. Shall we go?" He gesture towards the town and grinned at her.

His sudden change of attitude from overbearing to kind left Seychelles utterly confused. As they began walking to the town together she began to reflect on the man next to her. The first thing she thought was that this man was nothing like France. He had a temper, he was snobbish, and yet he had shown her kindness in the blink of an eye. And what now? He was being gentlemanly and obliging just as France was… Well, perhaps not as open as France, but still kind nevertheless. As she showed him around town, their conversation was limited - what with the language barrier and all - and yet, he acted kinder and more patient than he had been earlier when they first talked. Still, he was reserved in his actions. When talking with the French peoples, he was civil, yet distant. When analyzing the plantations and produce that she showed him, he seemed interested, yet not as impressed as she wanted him to be.

England inwardly reflected on all that Seychelles had shown him today. Everything seemed promising. These islands were well-stocked and quite fertile. As he had first expected, this was a place worth fighting for. And now that he had met Seychelles herself…

They were sitting by the Englishmen's campfire. Seychelles was, at the moment, occupied with one of the books England had shown her. He was watching her silently, admittedly admiring how slim her neck was shaped as she looked down at the book. Her black eyelashes were long and curved. Her skin looked so smooth against the setting sunlight. Come to think of it, he could remember how soft it had felt when his hand touched her shoulder. He flexed the hand and cleared his throat, feeling awkward at how thorough his perceptions were becoming when it concerned the young woman next to him.

She looked up. Her eyes were such a silky brown, with specks of gold in them. It was hard to look away, but he did so.

"So… you, um, seem interested in that book." He pointed at the novel in her hand.

She looked down at it and smiled.

"I think you should learn English soon. After all, you will hopefully be my ally once I take care of France."

Her ears perked up. "_France?"_

"Aye. France. It won't be pleasant when we meet," he said thoughtfully. Seychelles frowned, concerned. Judging by the tone of his voice when he mentioned France, it didn't seem that the future bode well for him where this man was concerned. She continued to stare down at the book and at the strange word formation on there.

"Not to worry, though," England spoke up, causing Seychelles to look at him. "I will make sure you are not harmed."

His eyes seemed sincere in whatever he said, but judging by his grim set of his jaw and the tone of his voice, Seychelles wasn't so sure about what this man was planning to do. The more she watched him, the more she began to fear about what the future would hold and what this man would do with both France and her.


	5. Chapter 4: 1801

Chapter 4

1801

"So, how are the lessons coming along?" England stepped into Seychelles' tiny cottage home and found her pouring over one of Molière's comedies. When she heard him, she scrambled to hide the book and to look like she was practicing her letters.

"Oh, um, fine! Just fine…" she tried to put on a convincing smile.

He wasn't fooled. When he came up to the table and looked at her practice sheets he saw hardly anything written.

"Fine, eh? You've been on this same page for the past hour or so."

Seychelles rolled her eyes and slammed her book down. "Well, I am having trouble with some of the letters and how to pronounce them."

"Really? Which ones?" England leaned down to get a better look. She pointed to the picture of a coat.

"This is spelled with a K, right?" she asked.

"No. It's spelled with a C."

She frowned. "But I thought C made the sh- sound! Coat is a ka- sound, right?"

England inwardly winced. Sometimes, even he didn't understand some of the rules of his own language.

"Well, the C can make both the sh- sound and the ka- sound. The sh- means it's soft and the ka- means it's hard."

Her frown deepened. "What?"

He was beginning to get frustrated. "Look, coat is spelled with C, all right? Just know that!"

She huffed. "No need to get so uppity and mad. I'm just having problems! Your language has to be one of most confusing things I've ever had to deal with!" She folded her arms and hunched over.

England sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Look, I am not sure as to why the rule is like that, but that's how it goes. So, coat does start with a C, all right?"

She sighed. "All right."

England smiled and began walking away. As she watched him leave, she decided she had to make one jab, just for the fun of it.

"I have to say, though, this _English _is far more troublesome and frustrating than French. Perhaps it's also the teachers involved."

Just as she thought, he turned and quickly walked back to her until he was standing across the table from her. He put his hands on the table and leaned in until their noses were inches apart.

"And _what_ is that supposed to mean, you little harpy?"

She smirked. "Perhaps I'm not doing well with English because you don't do so well as a teacher?"

His eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting that France is a better teacher than I am?"

She nonchalantly shrugged. "You are the one suggesting it, not I."

"Now listen here, you island troglodyte, I don't need someone like you comparing my teaching abilities with that French… frog! You know, I've taught others that have more distracting mannerisms that you!"

She glared back at him. "I don't have distracting mannerisms! I'm a good student!"

"Well, then prove it!"

She arched her back, raised her head high, and said "I _will _proveit! Just you wait!"

She shoved his face away and began pouring over her lesson books and began writing out letters and words. England just stood back and watched her, admittedly feeling triumphant at how he subtly goaded her back into studying. He dared not laugh or smirk, for fear of her attacking him out of hurt pride. He had to admit, he liked this girl's spirit. She was a bit like America, but not as loud and obnoxious. She had elegance to her, which probably resulted from being under France's care, whether he liked that or not. Fortunately, she wasn't as foppish and silly like France. She also had a comforting sense of ease about her, like she had no worries in the world. And truthfully, she probably hadn't had any worries in the world. From what he gathered, she had gone unnoticed by everyone until France had stumbled upon her, and now…

And now, here she was, about to be fought over by both him and France. As he continued to silently monitor her progress, he began to think. Why was he so willing to fight over this small colony and her lands? Why bother bickering and battling France over such a small space of land? As far as he knew, the French people here weren't opposed to helping English sailors with resources, as well as helping their own people. They were neutral. So, what was the point?

He heard the sound of pencil slamming against wood and looked up.

"Here, now take a look at this!" she crowed.

"Humph. Well, we will see just how well you did."

He looked at her paper and, admittedly, was impressed. "This is very well done. You've spelled all the words right and your handwriting is improving."

He nodded, handing the paper back to her. "I would say that earns you a break."

She cheered and jumped from her seat. "I'm going to go eat some pineapple! Want some?"

He shrugged. "All right. That sounds pretty good, actually."

**...**

"So, Seychelles, I have a question."

She raised her brows and peered over at him. They were sitting on a hill near the town, overlooking the beach below them. She had a bowl of cut up pineapples, and they were munching on them.

"What is it?"

"Out of curiosity, what is your relation to France?"

He saw a small smile come upon her face and a wistful look was in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was soft.

"He's my big brother. Well, that's what he said I could call him."

England nodded. "So, you are a colony of his?"

Her smiled widened. "Yes, I guess so. But, I haven't seen him in a while." The look went from wistful to sad.

"Hmm."

"England," she focused her attention on him. "You won't… hurt him, will you?"

_I figured she would ask that._ "He and I are in the middle of a war, Seychelles. If it comes to it, I may indeed hurt him."

She gripped his arm. "Please… Don't…"

"Don't? Listen," he loosened her hand from his arm and stood up. "I know France is special to you, but you have to understand. You don't know him like I do. France is … He's weak. He's a coward who would rather look after himself than worry about others."

Seychelles flew to her feet. "I don't believe you!" she cried. "I know how you two are rivals! You're probably just saying that to make me loose faith in him! France is good, kind and patient! He's treated me very well, like a … like a …"

She stopped and hesitated. For the thousandth time, she asked the question: _What is France to me? I love him. I do… But how do I love him?_

"Seychelles," England said quietly. "France is like that towards young women he wants to impress. I have to tell you that he has never been loyal to only one woman. At least, not for a long time. I don't know when it happened, but something in him snapped." He frowned. "He's become this… flirtatious, foppish dandy that has no shame or dignity. It's quite annoying." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

When he opened his eyes, he noticed that she was still quiet. She wasn't looking at him either. She had her arms folded close to her body and was looking away. He figured he had just shattered her dreams, or something.

"Seychelles?"

She sniffled. "I don't want to believe you. I can't…" But his words rang too true. France could have been wooing and romancing many women many times when he wasn't spending time with her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

_What selfish thinking, Michelle. You should never have expected him to love you like you have loved him…_

When she opened her eyes, there was a white handkerchief in front of her face. She glanced at the man next to her who was holding it.

"Here," he muttered. Her eyes went from the handkerchief to his face. When she didn't take it after a minute, he heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Oh, never mind. Hold still." He began dabbing her face with the cloth. As they looked at each other, his movements slowed as he began to notice just how long her eyelashes were and how lovely a color her caramel skin was up close. His hand finally drifted away from her face as they continued to look at one another until there was a call for England coming from the town.

"Master Kirkland! A moment, if you please?"

Feeling a little flustered, England cleared his throat. "Erm, right. I'll be right there."

He took one of her hands and placed the handkerchief in it. "Keep it for right now, all right?"

She looked at it. "Hmm. Very bland, just like I expected," she teased.

He harrumphed. "Well, what do you expect? Frills and laces? That is a proper English handkerchief, I'll have you know! And I'll not have you criticizing it when it was tailor-made in London!"

Even though her eyes stung from tears, she laughed. "Oh, England. Teasing you is so much fun! You get so huffy!"

"Laugh all you want, you brazen hussy," he scoffed. "That is one way you are like that frog. You both won't give me any peace." He folded his arms and closed his eyes.

Still laughing, she went up to his side. "I'm sorry. I am merely jesting."

He kept his stance, refusing to acknowledge her. She tilted her head as she studied his face and smiled to herself. One thing she had noticed about him was that when he frowned his thick eyebrows bristled and stood up. It made him look funny.

"Here, wait a minute." Reaching up, she smoothed out his eyebrows, smiling all the while. He stared at her, surprised.

"There you go!" she grinned.

Once again, they just stood there a moment, until he remembered he was needed.

"I'll, erm, see you later. Stay out of trouble," he warned.

She just laughed at him.

**...**

Seychelles sat in her little house, feeling worried. England and his men had left a few hours ago, because there was a skirmish with France out on the sea and they were needed. To her surprise, she hoped that he would be all right. Both he and France were on her mind as she continued to write her English letters. She found herself writing out the word _war _on her sheet.

Sighing, she set down her pencil and stared out in the direction of the ocean. She couldn't concentrate, so she didn't even try. She got up and walked out to the place where she felt the most at home: the sea. But even swimming in the cool waters and basking in the sun on the rocks as she had done in the past didn't satisfy her. She felt restless. She thought of both France and England out there on their ships fighting, hurting each other. And she wondered, what was it all for?

Life continued on as usual, but Seychelles wished she could do something different. Anything. There were times when some French sailors would come ashore asking for provisions and rest, and it was at those times when she was excited to be of assistance. There were also the arrival of men who were actually exiled prisoners from France. Upon meeting Seychelles and her people and seeing the clean, beautiful island shores, they thought they were in a heaven on earth.

The little island girl soon became well-loved by every newcomer that came upon her shores. She would go house to house and greet everyone she met, helping them and giving them all she could and in turn, they helped the towns and civilizations on the islands flourish.

"Thank you for being so kind, _mademoiselle," _they would say. "We've treated others badly and have been badly treaded ourselves, but you inspire us to do good. Thank you for accepting us."

Many of the prisoners felt a sense of reform after coming to the islands, which made Seychelles feel like she was worth something more. Even though she only did so little, changing one man's life was enough for her. In the meantime, the island culture flourished and people began to master culinary dishes as well as cultural dance and music. Things were bustling.

There was talk of a French warship just off the coast of the islands. Seychelles became anxious. Could France himself be on that ship? When she asked around, no one knew for sure. So, she just sat tight and tried to go about her daily duties. One day, as she was sitting with a couple of the island men and watched as they were carving out what was to be drums, she noticed that the men stopped and saluted someone behind her. When she turned, she laughed in delight. It was France.

"Big brother France! How have you been?" she exclaimed. She leaped up and embraced him tightly. Laughing himself, he returned the hug warmly. He had missed her. He wasn't going to deny that. Her bright smile, her charming laugh, her lovely eyes; he had missed all of it. Taking her face in her hands, he placed a loving kiss on her forehead.

"How is my dearest island girl? You seem to be busy."

"Oh yes! We've all been busy, France! Come!" She took him by the hand and led him along through the busy marketplace of the town, where people were bartering and trading goods and food. She showed him the new inventions and dishes the people had come up with. He was quite intrigued and enjoyed all that he saw, tasted and heard.

"My dear, everything is magnificent! I'm so proud of you and how your people have changed and developed!"

They were seated in her little home, sharing some wine between each other. Seychelles was happy, and yet… Yet she still had that nagging feeling that what she felt for France and what France felt for her was not the same. At the moment, France, sitting beside her, reached out and touched the ribbons in her hair.

"You're still wearing these, _chérie?_"

"Oh, yes." She laughed, touching the ribbons herself. "I suppose I just got used to wearing them. They're a present from you, after all."

He just sighed and shook his head. "You're too kind, Seychelles. I'm indeed a lucky man to have the friendship of someone like you."

At the word _friendship,_ she looked away. So England was right.

"France?"

"Yes, Seychelles?"

She took his hand in hers and caressed it. "I know I am nothing but a simple island girl and you only see me as a friend, or someone to baby and protect. But, you've come to mean so much to me. I have problems explaining it out loud, but… I care for you France."

He knew that look in her eyes. It was a look of loyalty and devotion. The look of a woman in love. This realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Marguerite really had become a woman while he was away. Something akin to a chill went through France and he squeezed her hand, leaning closer.

"Michelle…"

Her heart beat faster. "Yes?"

France had his hands framing her face when there was a knock on her door. "Sir?"

France leaped to his feet and faced one of the French soldiers.

"What is it?"

"The English are coming."

He gave a sharp intake of breath and nodded once. "Right. I will be there shortly."

Seychelles rose to her feet as France turned to her. He gripped her upper arms and stared into her eyes deeply.

"Please, Michelle, don't… don't try to do anything rash, all right? I don't want you to get hurt."

"But…"

"Just stay here!" He rushed out of the house.

But she didn't stay behind for long. She knew she should have probably listened to France, but she didn't care. Her fear for his safety overpowered whatever warnings he had given. She rushed through the town, the trees and out to the shoreline where she saw warships firing at each other in the distance. She gaped as the smoke billowed to the sky and as fire exploded in between the ships as they fired at one another.

Then she saw France over on the far left of the shore, brandishing a sword against England, who stood in the ocean, falling back. He also had his sword unsheathed.

England swung at France and France parried the blow.

"Not bad, frog," England growled. "Your sparring seems to have improved since the last war we fought, but!" He sneered. "Need I remind you who whooped your arse last time? Why don't you just give up?"

"Why don't _you _just go and find a different island to colonize, eyebrows?" France snarled back.

England let out a yell and swung his sword with such force that it took all of France's strength to block the blow. When their swords clashed, they made a definitive metallic ring and the two stood there with their swords pushing against each other, trying to shove the other off balance.

"Seriously," France grunted. "Why are you so hung up on capturing these islands for yourself? Is it perhaps because of a certain little island girl with ribbons in her hair?"

England didn't say anything, but there was a look that passed over his face for a split second. It was a look that hinted resentment and maybe even admittance. But it was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Don't be ridiculous! Once we have control of these islands, you won't have more ports to harbor Napoleon's warships and soldiers! This is war, France!"

He laughed at the Englishman. "That sounds like a load of bull, _Arthur._"

The sound of his personal name made England start. "You may be a crusty, old country that has endured a lot of hardships, but you're still a man. I'm sure you are not _that _oblivious. And I'm sure this isn't just about war, either!"

"If you think that any of my actions had to do with that little chit of a colony, you have been reading too many novels, France. I could care less about her. Seeing you and Napoleon loose trade and resources is what I am really here for! She's just another colony to be had and used for the Crown's profit!"

France just shook his head and chuckled. "_Tu es con! _And you are quite a liar, as well!"

England's temper was beginning to get the better of him. "Shut your mouth, you wanker! This is why you can't keep a woman, Bonnefoy! You never know when to use tact!" He shoved France hard and the other country stumbled. England raised his sword with a loud shout. He was going to deal the final blow.

"Stop!"

Seychelles dove under England's sword and threw herself on top of France.

"Don't hurt him, please!"

England didn't lower his sword, but he didn't attack France either.

"Seychelles, please step aside."

She clung to France's bloody shirt, glaring up at the Englishman.

"No! You lower your sword, England!"

"For Heaven's sake, Seychelles! I don't want to hurt you!" He brought the sword down closer to them threateningly.

"Then drop the sword!" she shouted.

France stared at his enemy as if seeing him for the first time. Usually, England was a cold, hardened country when it came to war. He was tough on America during the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812, though France knew it tore him up inside, and now? His words towards the colony girl had been just as cold, as France had expected, but seeing him now, France began to wonder if he had been correct in calling his enemy a liar. England had his arm raised as if to strike, but the look in his eyes betrayed the conflicting emotions that apparently were stirring inside of him. And France noticed this.

England couldn't bring himself to attack Seychelles.

There was the sound of an explosion and the three turned to see the French warship out on the sea go up in flames and begin to sink. England turned back to France and gripped his sword.

"Your men have lost, France."

He nodded. "_Oui, _I know. I surrender, England."

England lowered his sword, sheathed it, and actually offered France his hand to help him up. "Fare play, sir."

France took the man's hand and stood on his feet. When he was standing, he dropped his sword and England bent down to pick it up. Then he gripped his enemy's arm and they began walking towards the English ship that was beginning to dock. Seychelles felt her throat tightening up as she watched them walk away. Neither of them had looked at her or said anything to her. She walked back into the town and went back to her home. Sitting down at the table, she saw that she still had pages of English letters sitting out.

She gripped the pages in her hands, feelings of resentment and anger surging through her. She bunched the pages up and threw them into her small fire place, doing her utmost not to cry. Tears were rimming her eyes, but she continued to blink them away. She began the preparations at making a fire and once the flames were rising, she began poking the burning pages with a poker, jabbing at them with all her might.

So many emotions were swirling around in her brain at the moment. She had seen France defeated and had almost found herself in a fight against England. And yet, he didn't harm her. He had raised his blade, but didn't bring it down to strike. He just stood there looking at her, confusion and pain in his eyes.

_Why didn't you attack us? What was wrong with you?_ She gave the fire another quick stab, wishing she could use it against England a little bit.

_What had he been thinking? _

His words about her came back. They had been harsh and surprisingly, they had hurt. Was she really that useless? Had he harbored such cold feelings toward her the entire time in which she had known him?

The floor creaked and she spun around wielding the poker. It was France.

This time, the tears would not be stopped. She ran into his arms and sobbed. But she didn't know why she was crying. France was safe, right? But he had to surrender to England, albeit unharmed. England's face came into her mind then, as well as his reaction to France's verbal jabs. His cold words spun around in her head and caused the tears to flow faster.

France sighed and stroked her hair. "I'm sorry, Michelle, but I cannot stay. The English are sending me back to my home and I am to leave right now."

"I expected as much. I'm just glad you are safe," she sniffled.

"I told you not to follow me, but I suppose I should thank you. Because of you, England didn't fully immobilize me. Dearest," he pulled away from her and sadly smiled. "I don't know when I will see you again. This may be the last time for a very long while."

Seychelles nodded. Even though he had said something similar to this before, this time he really wouldn't be back, for a long time if at all. She knew this and tried to resign herself to the idea. She was not alone any more. There were people here and she had many tasks to occupy her. As she looked up into France's sky-blue eyes, she did her best to give him a brave smile.

"Take care of yourself, France."

He stared at her for a minute before sadly smiling himself. "I will be thinking about you, Michelle."

"Thank you. I won't forget you."

He gave her a lingering kiss on each cheek before leaving her house. She didn't follow him. She was too overwhelmed with so many thoughts and emotions that she decided to go to her bed and sleep. The next day would give her ample time to think about what had transpired and what the future would hold. As she laid down to rest, she spotted something on the table next to her bed. It was a handkerchief, white and plain. Sensible. Tailor-made in London. The initials A.K. were stitched in the lower right corner. She picked it up and smoothed the letters over with her fingers, followed by bringing it to her nose. She closed her eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep, the handkerchief still in her hands.

**...**

England sat in his office back at his home. He had a terrible headache and didn't want to do anything, so he was just sitting there. Things were starting to look up, though. The French were slowly losing the Seychelles islands. Little by little, the English occupation would begin and France wouldn't be able to stop it.

But he wasn't really thinking about that. He was thinking about what France had said to him that day that they dueled on those island shores. Was it because he wanted to make France lose another safe harbor for his men the reason why he was so invested in the islands? It had to be. Why else would he be caring so much? He was a naval officer, a royal representative, an ambassador to the Crown! And war was going on, war which threatened the lives of all the English people. Of course he had to do everything in his power to make sure that France was defeated and that the French didn't overrun his people.

_It is not personal. It is business. It is war._

Golden-brown eyes, long black hair tied back with red ribbons, a big smile and a charming laugh entered his mind at that moment. He squeezed his eyes shut to try to lose the image, but in the dark it became clearer. He thought back to that day on the beach. Imagine his surprise, his shock when he saw that young woman fly to France's side. The pleading eyes that begged him not to hurt the one she loved. For a split second, he wanted to kill her too; to make her realize that an alliance with France was foolhardy and futile. But when he had the chance, he couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. He had realized in that moment that it would have been easier for him to surrender than it would have been to harm her.

Had France noticed? England wasn't sure. The two of them had known each other for so long, sometimes they could read the other and deduce what the other would do, so England wouldn't have been surprised if France had spotted his inner struggles concerning Seychelles. But France hadn't said anything when England took him away that day. He had only given him a look and for the remainder of the voyage had remained silent. England had been glad of that. If France had tried to start a conversation, England would have shut him up quick.

And now here he was, sitting in his office, trying to figure out what was behind his conflicting emotions. A cold cup of tea was sitting there on his desk. He had tried to drink the stuff to calm his nerves, but it hadn't helped him. He kept seeing her in his mind. Hearing her voice and laugh. Scenes of their interactions flew before his eyes: her learning English, teasing him over his handkerchief, bending over him when he had been injured…

_What is wrong with me? I have never felt so worked up over a colony before… And she isn't even a part of __**my **__colonies!_

He placed his hands on the desk and slowly rose to his feet.

_Perhaps if I got some air I could be able to think clearly again…_

He grabbed his coat and hat from the coat stand by his office door and decided to take a turn about the city for a little while. He had to do something, _anything_ to get that island colony out of his head.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ohhh man, guys! This chapter took me a while to brainstorm, haha. Fighting moments are hard for me to write, and I've been trying flesh out the relationships between the characters better.

Oh, btw, the whole C vs. K thing is actually from real-life experiences. My 5 year old brother is learning how to sound out words and spell them and he asked me why coat wasn't spelled with a K instead of a C. I was having the hardest time explaining to him why this was so. haha, he gave me the most questioning look. He's so cute! :D

History-wise, around 1801, Napoleon sent ships full of exiled prisoners to Seychelles where I imagined they led a new life of reform and comfort, also this was the year that a big sea-battle between France and England occurred just off the shoreline of Seychelles. Found that quite interesting and suitable for the story. Yup, yup. Conflicts are occurring and emotions are beginning to rise up. Yay! Enjoy this chapter!


	6. Chapter 5: 1814

**Author's Note: (This chapter has been updated)** Greetings! Man, it's been awhile since I posted another chapter. Sorry about that, dearies. ^^;; But what with life and me being sick for the past couple of days, I had trouble finishing this chapter. Also that blasted writer's block kept attacking me. But it's here!

Now, there's a few things I want to say before we start. First off, I want to apologize for the updates on the chapters. I know one of you lovely reviewers got a sort of false alarm and thought I had another chapter up. Well, see this is what happened: I recently discovered that fans had given Seychelles a human name and that it was Michelle, which I find adorable. Previously I had named her Marguerite myself, but then I found out that the Nyotalia's version of Canada was named Marguerite, and I thought that it might be confusing, so I changed it to Michelle, just like what the fans call her.

Second, I also recently discovered that in some Hetalia game, England and France both interact with Seychelles, but France practically molests her and England hooks a dog collar on her! O_o I guess France is supposed to be overbearingly hitting on her while England is domineering. Well, I was definitely not gonna write any form of sexual advances on France's part (the closest would be kissing) and I wasn't going to make England wholly dominating and unfeeling. Yes, England may be a bit gruff, but he's not going to put any collar around her neck. That just wouldn't suit, I think. Plus, I've got them arguing. That's good enough, I think. :D

Ok. That's that. This is a looooong chapter, of which I apologize. And now, look! It's a long author's note. So I'm gonna shut up now. Cheers!

* * *

Chapter 5

1814

"Hey you!"

Seychelles turned to see the Englishman marching her way.

"_Bon sang!" _She began looking left and right for a place to hide. Ever since England (or Great Britain, as he called himself now) had beaten France in that sea battle that took place off of her shores, the English had slowly started to worm their way into leadership positions on the islands. They were beginning to govern everyone as the war against France continued, which meant having to deal with Arthur Kirkland, the country representative, more often. The problem with that was that the island girl had no desire to have any kind of interaction with him. And now here he was, back again, walking her way. Well, she was having none of that.

Pretending that she hadn't acknowledged his presence, she began walking quickly in the opposite direction. Britain noticed this.

"Hey, wait a minute! Wait- Dash it all, Seychelles!" he shouted. He began chasing after her. "I need to talk to you!"

_But I don't need to talk to __**you**__! _She thought, weaving in and out of the crowds. England kept up pretty well, though, as he shoved people aside with the typical "pardons" and "coming through's."

"Seychelles, I know you can hear me!"

"I'm really busy right now. No time to talk!" she exclaimed, looking over her shoulder.

"That's bollocks! Get back here!"

She continued jogging through the town until she found herself at a dead end. She had run down a sort of alley and was against the wall. A hand came down against the wall a few inches to the right of her head. She yelped.

"Finally," Britain heaved a breath. He looked down to see Seychelles glaring at him, probably not very pleased that he had basically trapped her in this alleyway. After a moment's pause, he decided that it would be better if he backed away a little.

"Seychelles, I just need to talk to you for a minute."

She folded her arms and assumed a hunched position. "Well, what is it?"

_Oi, you must have patience, Arthur…_ He pinched the bridge of his nose and close his eyes for a minute.

"I'd like to talk to you about your people's dealings with the French slave traders."

She frowned perplexedly. "What's the matter?"

"It is against English law to trade slaves and your people have allowed French sailors to do so on these shores! The good Sullivan is having the hardest time of it, dealing with your people. I don't want to have to do anything harsh, so if you could just talk to your boss…"

She sighed. So it was only political business? She was relieved and yet also a bit frustrated. Of course it was only for political business. She was nothing more but another colony to put under his belt. Another conquest for the Crown.

Seychelles was beginning to feel more and more annoyed. "Fine. Very good. Can I go now, if you would be so kind?" She mockingly curtsied.

It was Britain's turn to frown. "What's the matter with you?"

She spun on her heel and began to walk away. "Nothing is the matter!" She spoke in a forced light tone.

"Ah, you don't fool me, my dear." He easily caught her by the upper arm. "Now, tell me what's troubling you."

"What do you care? I'm just another colony for the Crown," she shot back. She couldn't help but display some of her inner bitterness.

_Ah, so she heard me that day…_ He did recall her jumping in to save France a little while after speaking those words. She must have been a couple of yards awayfrom their fight to have overheard them. And _he_ was accusing France of lack of tact?

He passed his hand over his forehead and sighed. What was he going to say to her? Part of him did indeed believe that what he had said to be true. And yet… another part of him denied that it was true. She did mean something to him. She wasn't just a colony for him and his government to control… she was…

What was she?

"Seychelles…"

"It's not just that you were speaking about me that hurt, you know," she said quietly. Britain looked at her. "It's the fact that you English don't seem to appreciate my people at all. We help the French because they are kind, they care about what happens to us. You English seem rather cold and unfeeling compared to the French. Here, we're improving in our culture, we're changing daily, and the lot of you don't even seem to care. If you're planning to colonize us and make us part of your empire, the least you can do is show that you care a little bit about what goes on around here."

That such mature words came out of her mouth, of all people, surprised him somewhat. After staring at her for a minute, he couldn't help but smile.

"Well," he said good-naturedly. "I have been soundly scolded and I apologize. Let it not be said that the English are wholly uncaring. From now on, we shall be more invested in these islands." He began walking away, but looked back at her once. "Walk with me?"

_Well, _she thought, surprised. _I didn't think that this would go so well._ She quickly trotted up to his side and they began walking through the town together.

"Actually," he spoke up as they passed by a fisherman's market, "now that I think about it, this all is rather amazing. Your people have flourished quite well." He bent over one table where one woman was making beaded jewelry out of coral. She smiled at him and offered it to him.

"For the lovely lady?"

He smiled. "Would you like to have it?"

Once again, Seychelles was taken by surprise. "Thank you! That's very kind of you." She reached for the item but he averted his hand.

"Hold on a moment." Britain paid the woman. When he was finished, he turned toward Seychelles and twirled his hand. "Turn around," he ordered.

She obeyed and suddenly felt the necklace slip across her neck. Britain had put the necklace on her himself. When he finished hooking the clasps together, he laid his hands on her shoulders.

"There now." He came up in front of her and smiled at the necklace. "It looks very nice. Quite a lovely color on you."

Suddenly, the atmosphere was beginning to feel warmer than usual and Seychelles didn't want to look at him at the moment. Instead, she found great interest in his boots as she fidgeted with the necklace. Seychelles wanted to say something. Maybe say something like "thank you" or "you're too kind," but the first thing that came out was,

"Oh my, aren't we being nice today! I hope nothing is the matter!"

She inwardly winced. Why was it that she was always sarcastic and teasing around this man? She didn't mean to be. She had wanted to be thankful and kind. Seychelles was quick to apologize.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean… that is…"

Britain laughed. "You're quite a devil of a girl, aren't you? But I think that's what I like about you."

She felt that warmth coming again, but she ignored it and laughed back at him. "Well, if that's the case, I'm more than willing to add some spice to your boring life and cause more mischief."

_Wrong thing to say, Michelle!_ The warmth wouldn't be fought down this time. She felt it all over and wanted to bury herself in the sand. Britain seemed a bit uncomfortable too. He cleared his throat and stared at a nearby fisherman's shop. People were bartering and buying. He found it all suddenly quite intriguing.

"Look here, if you start any trouble, you'll get trouble. Do you hear me?" he said gruffly. She nodded.

"Yes."

The quiet between them deafened the loud sounds of the town's trading, selling and bartering. Britain ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat again.

"Shall we go?"

She was still playing with the necklace when she nodded in assent.

"Wait a minute!" he exclaimed all of a sudden as they were walking. "What do you mean 'boring life'?"

Once again, she laughed at him.

**…**

"What is your home like, Britain?"

Britain stared into the sparkling, turquoise waters that were just below them, crashing onto the rocks. She had taken him to her favorite spot, just a little ways beyond the village, on the borders of the jungle. There on the rock, she had treated them both to a small luncheon of seafood and fresh fruit, along with some coconut milk.

"It's not bad," he had said, "for French cooking." A smirk was on his face when he said this. "Did you make it?"

She shrugged. "No. I'm not much of a cook, really. But I'm glad you seem to somewhat enjoy it, even though it is French."

And now, they were relaxing after the meal, with some of the local wildlife to keep them company.

"What is my home like? Well, let's see… Oh! I say!" A parakeet suddenly landed on his head. "Blasted bird! Gerroff!" He swung his hands over his head, trying to swipe the bird away. "Could I have a little help, please?" he exclaimed angrily. Seychelles giggled as she gently took the bird off of his head.

"There you go. Is that mean man trying to hit you, hmm?" she stroked the bird's plumage and it chirped at her.

"How come _I'm _the mean one here? It better not have left any droppings on my head!" He carefully ran his hand through his hair.

"Don't worry. You're clean. Now, go on," she urged the bird to fly away and it took off into the trees behind them. "Aren't they lovely birds?"

"Oh of course. Such charmers," Britain frowned. "Well, you do have some interesting specimens here. I saw some little green frogs around here earlier that I haven't seen before…"

She nodded. "Some of the French explorers said that they were only found here. What animals do you have at your home?"

He had to think. "Oh, we have the usual fish, frogs and birds, like you. We have some dogs as well. But we don't have any wolves. They were all killed or driven out years ago… We have mice, foxes, badgers, snakes… A lot of animals, really."

She stared at him. "What are foxes and badgers?"

"Um… How to explain foxes and badgers… Well." He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. "I'll show you pictures some time. They'd do a better job explaining than I."

"Well, could you explain what your home is like, then?" she asked. "You've been all over the world, I'm sure. But I have not, and I'd like to know what someone else's home looks like."

A nostalgic smile came over his face. "Ah, what is home like? Well, for starters, it is an island like this. Just not as … tropical." Britain stared off into the horizon with that smile still on his face.

"My home is a lovely spread of forests, hills, plains, and moors. We have beaches as well, but they are mainly comprised of pebbles. They're a little different than your beaches. But we do have beautiful forests. In the autumn, the trees become these vivid colors of oranges, yellows and reds and the ground underneath is covered with the leaves. We have rolling, green hills that stretch for miles and miles. In some areas they all meet up at the sea and they form these majestic cliffs where you can look out over the ocean with the gulls crying in the sky. Our moors are flat plains and sometimes consist of swamplands. They also stretch for miles and you can get lost in them if you're not careful…"

He stopped and sighed, while continuing to stare out beyond the sea. Seychelles looked at him and felt like she was talking to the real man that Britain was for the first time. There was no pretense, no snobbish reservations, nor was there any forceful anger. He was telling her about the home that made him proud and the land that he was loyal toward. A gentle, warm breeze stirred their hair and Britain remained quiet. Seychelles began to wonder if he was thinking about his home and his people and perhaps feeling a little homesick. She knew that if she had to be separated from her islands for a long amount of time, she'd get homesick too. And even though this man was part of a massive empire, she knew he was only human as well. He felt fear, anger, happiness, and sadness just like the next man.

She decided to break the silence. "It sounds lovely."

He blinked at looked at her. "Honestly?"

"Yes. These islands are my home, and I think they're the most beautiful lands on earth, but I've never seen trees turn different colors. Nor have I seen flat lands that stretch for miles and miles."

He looked away. "Oh. I mean, I didn't expect you to be so …"

"Admiring?"

"Perhaps. I don't know if anyone has ever really complimented me on my land before."

"Do you ever feel homesick when you are away?"

He smirked. "Well, not for the aristocracy, at least. My bosses haven't always been the kindest of people."

"Well, every country has had that problem, I'm sure." She nodded sagely.

"That is true. I'll tell you what," he said after a minute's pause. "If you ever find yourself on my land, I'll show you around."

Seychelles smiled. "Will I receive the Grand Tour, then?"

Britain smiled back. "I promise."

* * *

Britain stared up into a night sky overlooking the Canadian wilderness and heaved a huge sigh. He was exhausted from the constant war that plagued his countrymen, but he could not sleep a wink.

He had found himself divided in two over two individual wars that were occurring at the same time. Napoleon and his troops had attempted and almost succeeded in invading Russia and were now preying on other countries such as Portugal, Austria and Prussia. In the meantime, America had decided to take it into his head to try and fight for Canada's independence as well as the independence for other areas of his country. For Heaven's sake, couldn't that blasted country be satisfied for once? He had to have picked _this _specific time to try and enforce more of his annoying ideas of independence and whatnot.

As a result, Britain found himself tirelessly juggling the two wars back and forth. Well, they had burnt America's capital, that was one for the books. America wouldn't soon forget that. Serves him right. Britain was tired of all this. He was beginning to long for the time when he had been sitting on the rocks overlooking sparkling, bright blue shores… and when a parakeet had landed on his head.

That day seemed like it had occurred ages ago. In reality, it could only have been a couple of years past, right? Sipping the coconut milk, eating ripe fruit, talking about his home. Giving her that silly little coral necklace…

She had seemed so surprised at the small offering. He could remember the way she fiddled with it, turning it round on her neck. It was a lovely color on her. She had teased him, like usual. And yet, it hadn't annoyed him. It actually amused him. He knew she usually didn't mean any harm. She was just a playful little thing, kind in nature. Happy, jovial, always bustling about with something to do. Proud of her people, willing to help others, yet unable to cook for herself…

Britain pulled a small trinket out of his pocket. It was a fish made up of pieces of blue seashells glued together. She had made it herself, she said.

"As a thank you for the necklace."

"It's nice and all, but what am I going to do with a small thing like this?"

She had pouted at him. "Put it on a shelf somewhere. I don't know. I just wanted to give you something as a token of gratitude. Want me to take it back?"

He had nonchalantly shaken his head. "No, I'll figure out something to do with it. Maybe I'll use it as a paper weight or something, though I don't know how much use it'll be."

"You're terrible!" she had complained.

He had grinned in response. "I know."

Looking at it now in the dim lantern's light, Britain couldn't help but smile. It really was a pretty little thing. It even had golden gems glued onto it for eyes. The shells had been arranged in such a way as to resemble scales on the fish. The more material side of him figured that it could be worth a decent amount of money, but he wouldn't sell it. That wouldn't be in good form.

When he rose to blow out the light, he placed the fish on his desk. Even in the dark, before he fell asleep, he continued to smile at the image of that young woman who had given that fish to him. Soon, he found that he was able to drift off to sleep with the dreams of those island shores giving him a small measure of peace.

* * *

Time seemed to pass slowly for Seychelles lately. Britain had left a while back and she found herself back to her normal errands and duties. One thing that was surprising that did occur during this period of mediocrity and contentment was when she began receiving letters from France.

_My dearest Michelle, _he wrote.

_I am sure this must seem surprising to you, since I haven't written you a letter like this before. But this war that I am fighting against England and his allies forbids me to even think about anything else, which sadly, includes not coming to see you. But I do miss you, dearest, and wish I could see your lovely face. So, as of right now, all I can do is write you letters._

_ How are all of your fellow islanders? I hope you all are faring well and aren't being bullied by those Englishmen. You do not want for anything, I hope? I am sure it must be hard sometimes, having to care for yourself without any real help, but you do have a good source of food and produce there that can be traded. Just do your best. I'm sure you all will be fine. _

_I do think of you often, Michelle. This war is sometimes almost too much to bear. My commander, by name of Napoleon Bonaparte, is really a brilliant man, but since our recent loss in Russia, I fear that he will not succeed for long. I don't want to worry you with this tedious kind of talk, but if we lose the war…_

_ Ah, I won't bother you with any more of this. It is troublesome and it doesn't sit well with me. Just know this, Michelle, that I won't forget you. If you are able, it would please me to hear from you._

_Ever yours,_

_Francis, Your _

_Big Brother France_

Seychelles sat in her home, going over his words again and again.

_Dear France… I hope you are all right. _

He was right. News of war did worry her, but she almost wished that he had talked about it, so that she wouldn't be left totally in the dark. Nevertheless, she decided not to let it affect her too much, for she believed that France had the best in mind. With every letter he sent her, she sent one back and each letter from him reassured her that he was all right, and that he thought about her constantly.

_I want to show you my home when all this is over. You would love Paris, I think. It is not the same as your islands, but the French countryside is beautiful in its own right. I'm sure you want to see new lands, so you shall see mine. _

France's home. Yes, she would like to see it. It had to be one of utmost beauty, just like he was.

It was on one pleasant spring morning when Seychelles received a knock on her door.

"_Bon sang! _Who could that be?" An older lady who had decided to care for the little woman rushed up to the door of Seychelles' little house. When she opened that door, they were both surprised to see a French soldier.

"_Bon jour, Monsieur. _What can we do for you?"

"Forgive me, _Madame_," the man removed his hat politely, "but I have a note from Master France. He desires for you to come and visit his home."

Seychelles was dumbfounded. France sent for her?

"Is he here, _Monsieur?_"

"_Non,_ unfortunately he sends his regrets. Because of the war, he has been unable to do anything else but stay at Napoleon's side. But he has invited you to come to his home in Paris, so if you would like, I will escort you to our ship."

"I will be a minute."

It didn't take her long to pack up a bag of meager items for the trip. Before she left, she informed her bosses of what was occurring. To her surprise, they seemed to have already been informed of her going and they seemed a bit pensive. Even so, they bid her a safe voyage and she was soon at the harbor where the French ships were docked. She was quite excited for she had never been on a large ship like what the French had. When she first stepped on board, she was awed at the high masts and sails, the rigging and especially the large helm near the front of the ship. She was like a little girl again, running around, chatting up the men who were on board. It was only when they had begun to sail did she settle down. She was fortunate in that the rocking of her ship didn't leave her seasick.

She thought of France and his home in Paris. Why the sudden call to come and see him? Had he been able to arrange a rendezvous for the two to meet each other? She hoped this wouldn't delay any urgent business concerning the war, for she knew that France would need all of his strength to win, as he had said that they had been experiencing defeat lately.

Even so, she had missed him, although she had resigned herself to the fact that they wouldn't see each other very often anymore. He had sent her letters, but those weren't the same, so this sudden meeting was exciting for her. She hoped it would be exciting for him as well. After all, had he not written of his longing to see her again?

It took them a fair amount of months' time to get to France's home, stopping at different ports in Africa along the way. When they arrived, Seychelles could only gape at the new sight of a French harbor. People were bustling about, much like at home, but there were carriages passing to and fro and there was hardly a dark-skinned face to be seen, unless they were doing some sort of drudge-work.

"Is this Paris?" she asked one of the French men.

"Oh no, _mademoiselle. _This is just a town by the sea. It will take us a couple of days to get to Paris."

They rested at an inn for the night, where Seychelles was treated to some of the cuisine and asked many questions by the inn's staff. They asked questions like "Who is your master?" "Are you a freed slave?" "Where are you headed?" "Paris? Are you going to be employed by the royal family?"

"She is a honored guest of his lordship Francis Bonnefoy. It would be wise to show her some respect," the French captain said, frowning.

The people didn't say anymore, but they whispered to themselves.

"I wonder how someone like that became close to someone like Master Bonnefoy."

"She's probably a new slave of his, regardless of what the captain says. I wouldn't be surprised if she was here for his own _personal _use, if you follow me."

"What a shame that these upper-class men try to find satisfaction in foreigners!"

"Indeed!"

The next morning, Seychelles bade goodbye to the French sailors before they went their separate ways to their naval posts. Replacing them were royal officials who politely escorted her into a carriage, explaining that they would take her to France's home. This would be her first carriage ride as they traveled along the roads, past towns and cities and through the French countryside to get to Paris. She would look back on it and other carriage rides as her least favorite parts of travel. There wasn't much space in them and the motion of the horses galloping across the roads was sometimes jerky and jostling. Seychelles could remember being more than happy to get out at every stop that the carriage rider took. But she did enjoy looking out the window, although the scenery moved at a face pace from the horses' running.

One morning, one of the soldiers tapped her on the shoulder and pointed out the window.

"This is Paris!"

The city was huge. There were buildings and houses stretched far and wide. From afar, she could see a glorious structure with a sort of flower shape in the middle of its tall towers with windows and a bell tower. The men told her that it was a holy place - a cathedral, they called it. They said that it was named after a woman named Mary, whom they worshiped as a holy virgin. Seychelles didn't really understand it, but it left her in awe nevertheless. As they passed through the city, she spied a magnificent structure which the men called the _Arc de Triomphe. _It was still under construction, but even so, it was beautiful.

"Napoleon was quite impressed with it. He had his own little model built after it."

"What is it for?" she asked as they passed it.

"It is a dedication to all our men who have died in the war. May God rest their souls!"

The carriage took them to a sort of suburb in Paris where they drove up to an extensive field, and where Seychelles beheld one of the most beautiful buildings she had ever seen. Even though Napoleon Bonaparte had decided to take his lodgings elsewhere, France and the empress had decided to reside in the magnificent Palace of Versailles. It was this very palace which Seychelles stood in front of this day.

"France lives _here?_" she said, her voice little above a whisper.

"Indeed he does. He is not here at the moment, however, so we shall make sure that you are shown to your room. We shall inform Master Bonnefoy that you have arrived."

If she thought the outside was impressive, imagine her awe when she saw what the inside looked like. The walls were lavish colors inlaid with gold. The ceilings were high, held up by white pillars. Above their heads were golden chandeliers. As they continued walking through, Seychelles began to feel an overwhelming sense of inferiority. This place was beautiful, but it was so enormous. She knew she would get lost in here if she was left to herself.

_It might almost be bigger than my island! _she thought. Part of her was in jest, but the other part of her took a look at her surroundings and did feel that it might be somewhat true.

Her room was like a little palace on its own. The first thing she did was run up to the massive bed, took a flying leap and plunged into the downy mattress and blankets. She laughed happily. The bed was so big, she figured she could fit at least three people on there with her! For the next hour or so, she investigated her room. There was an armoire where her clothes had been stored, a vanity with a nice mirror where she could sit and … do something with herself, she guessed. The windows overlooked out into a courtyard of plants and hedges. There was also a nice little sitting area by these windows where she figured she could entertain herself with reading and other pastimes.

She suddenly heard a knock. Seychelles jumped up from the bed she was sitting on and stared at the door across from her.

_I suppose I should answer that…_

She slowly walked over to the door and creaked it open, her nose peeking out into the hall. There was a maid on the other side. A kind smile was on her face.

"Beg your pardon, my lady, but I have come to help prepare you for dinner."

"Prepare for dinner? What do you mean?"

She stepped back and let the maid into the room. The lady walked over to the armoire and pulled out a frilly, white dress.

"When it is dinner time, people here dress up all fancy-like. I think this dress would be nice on you. Here, let's put in on, shall we?"

First came all the under garments: the petticoats, the corset (of which Seychelles was not fond of) and the stockings. Then came the dress. She had never felt such fine fabric. It practically slid onto her body when the maid helped put it on her and when the lady urged her to look at herself in the mirror, she grinned at the sight of it.

"It's lovely!" she exclaimed.

"And you look very fine, _Mademoiselle._ Come, let me fix your hair."

France was not at dinner, but Seychelles was able to meet Napoleon's wife, Marie Louise the Empress. The Frenchwoman found the young woman from the islands charming. Even though she fumbled a bit with her cutlery and was shy at first, the Lady took delight in conversing with her.

It wasn't until a couple of days later that France finally arrived at Versailles. Seychelles saw him coming her way when she was wandering around in the palace gardens.

"France! Big brother France!"

She was a welcome sight for the defeated country. He didn't want to tell her, but France and his men had been soundly beat by the British and the Germans. Napoleon was under arrest, and France had been allowed to return home to care for the Empress and handle the upcoming meeting with the Allies to surrender. But all that was pushed to the back of his mind when he saw the island woman running towards him. She wore a white dress and her hair was done up, though those red ribbons were still billowing from a hat she wore.

She gave him a warm hug and he pushed the hat off of her head.

"It's the first time I saw you dressed like this, _ch__é__rie. _You're beautiful."

She laughed. "I don't know about that. I'm not used to all these frills and laces! But there's one thing…" She pulled up her skirts to reveal bare feet. France laughed.

"I just couldn't stand those shoes I had to wear!" she exclaimed.

"I didn't expect you to. You're too free a bird to be completely tamed," he replied. He took her hand and they began walking through the gardens.

"How do you like it in Paris?"

"It's a beautiful place! I especially like these gardens. I still haven't figured out how to find my way through them, though. They're quite large!"

"Ah, don't worry. Now that I'm here, you won't have that problem."

For the next few hours, she told him of all she had seen and done in Paris. She told him about the journey she had taken. She described her room and how enormous it was. She told him about the wildlife she had discovered while running around in the gardens, even going so far as to taking him back out to the gardens and showing him a rabbit she had caught. It squirmed in her hands and she didn't hold on to it for long.

It was during this period of time that Napoleon was forced to abdicate by the Allies' leaders that had invaded Paris. With him shipped off to an island somewhere, the Empress and their son relocated to Austria, and so France and Seychelles were left alone in the palace. But things weren't carefree. Although France did what he could to spend time with his young colony, the Allies demanded of him time to form a surrender. France knew time was running short before he would have to bid goodbye to Seychelles.

That was running through his mind as he and his little friend were relaxing together in the palace's courtyards. Seychelles was sprawled on a hammock, looking very unladylike, but very comfortable. He was sitting in a lawn chair, unsuccessfully reading a book. When he glanced over at the young woman, humming to herself in the hammock, he said,

"That's a pretty little necklace you have on. It matches your ribbons nicely."

He watched as her eyes widened and as her hand strayed to her neck.

"Thank you. It was a gift…"

"Well, whoever gave it to you must have known you well. The color suits you, especially against that white dress."

She began to fidget with everything - the necklace, her dress, her hair, the hammock - as one thought ran through her head. _He _had said the same thing.

Seychelles mentally kicked herself. _Oh __**why **__must I think about him right now?!_

"Who gave it to you, may I ask?"

She hesitated before answering. "Britain did."

There was a pause. France raised his brows and said, "Ah."

He wouldn't deny it. He was surprised. So that fellow really did have something of a heart after all! Well, he couldn't blame the man. With someone as lovely as Seychelles, it would be easy to lavish gifts on them. Although, France wasn't surprised that the gift was little and simple. The man really did have reserved tastes. He couldn't imagine Britain giving her diamonds and gold.

Even so, France hid his surprise and said, "It's made of coral, is it not?"

She nodded.

"I thought so. It really is a nice piece of jewelry."

Seychelles stared up into the treetops. She wondered what France was thinking. Was he angry? Was he surprised? Amused? She figured it was either the second or the latter. He didn't seem angry, at least.

Suddenly that day was before her mind's eye: Britain buying the necklace, telling her to turn around, the feeling of his fingers against her neck as he fastened the necklace on her… She heaved a sigh and spoke.

"It is a rather warm afternoon, isn't it?"

France smiled to himself. "A little, yes."

There was another pause before he rose and stood before her in the hammock.

"May I?"

She smiled pleasantly and did her best to make room. The hammock swayed a little as he got in next to her. Once they were nestled snugly in the hammock, he spoke softly.

"Michelle, there are things that I must tell you."

"What?" She shifted onto her side so that she could face him better.

"Very soon, things are going to be different. I just want to warn you beforehand, but know this. I will always love you as my own daughter.

"Dearest, I know that you told me, that day when I fought Britain, that you cared about me. You told me that you thought I only saw you as someone to protect and baby as a child. Well, up until then, I had seen you as only a child. But you have grown into such a beautiful woman, Michelle, that I did fancy myself in love with you. I left that day with you in my mind, wondering what it would be like being in love with you…

"But darling, I also realized something else. You're still young. I was the first man that you had ever met, and the first to care for you. What you felt and may still feel for me may just be a girl's first love. You weren't the mature woman that you are now when you first said you loved me. You still had the mind of a child. I am not telling you this to hurt you, my dearest, for it almost pains me to say this. I am telling you this so that you won't regret anything later. I do not think that you really have found the one you truly love yet. As for me, I can be nothing more than a fatherly figure to you now."

It was quiet after he spoke those words. Seychelles had stared at him for a minute, but then she turned away. She didn't get up nor did she speak. She didn't cry, or shout. She just did some thinking. If her affection for France was the equivalent of a girl's first love, she figured this aching feeling must be the same as a girl's first heartbreak.

France didn't say anything either. He knew what he had said must have hurt her, but he knew that come the next couple of days, her opinion of him would probably change for the worse anyway.

Suddenly, she spoke. "Did you really love me, France? You know, not in the fatherly way?"

_Good grief, she has to make things difficult,_ he thought amusedly. He laid his hand on his shoulder and gently prodded her to turn to him. Without a second thought or word, he gently kissed her. Seychelles was surprised. She didn't know what to do, where to place her hands, whether to look at him, look away or just to close her eyes… She was so utterly confused that she hadn't figured in kissing him back.

He pulled away after a minute, smiling sadly. "Ah, see? I can tell by a lady's kiss how she feels. Let us at least remain friends, _ch__é__rie_, all right?"

She took his hand and kissed it. "_Oui, _France. We will always be friends."

For the remainder of that afternoon, into the evening, they remained together on the hammock until they both fell asleep.

**…**

"All right, France," spoke Britain, "are you ready to sign the Treaty?"

The Allies were gathered together at Versailles, waiting for France to sign their treaty of surrender. Amongst the Allied forces were Britain, Austria, Portugal, Russia, Sweden and Prussia. Portugal and Sweden were quietly sitting there, waiting for the Treaty to be signed so that they could go home. Prussia was trying to liven up the situation, but was just being a bother to Austria who looked annoyed at the whole thing, and Russia was just sitting there serenely smiling, but watching France closely. It seems that the only person willing to openly negotiate with France was Britain.

France smiled proudly. "I did put up quite a fight, though, you have to admit."

Britain rolled his eyes. Austria sighed. "Yah, but now that you have lost, you must sign. We're giving you plenty of liberties, you know."

"Perhaps too many liberties," Russia said, still smiling.

"Indeed. I say we just leave him to pick up after himself and take what we want out of his lost territories!" Prussia grinned.

"Now, now. Let's be reasonable. We had decided that France could have all of his annexed boundaries from 1792 as well as most of his foreign colonies. It wouldn't be in good form to go back on our agreement."

Prussia just raised his hands in the air out of exasperation and went to pour himself a glass of wine.

France bent down to sign the treaty. "Well, Britain, you all are being quite generous. As for me retaining _most _of my foreign colonies, of which did you mean to take, hmm?"

Britain kept a straight face when he spoke. "Only a select few: Tobago, Saint Lucia, Mauritius…"

"And?" _Come on, man, say it. I know who else._

"I mean to take Seychelles, since she is the sister colony of Mauritius."

In that moment, France wanted to strike that damned Englishman. Even though it was for a split second, the urge was almost overpowering. He knew it was coming, but it still angered him. What right did he have? Of all the colonies, why her? He gripped the pen and stared evenly at his fellow country, as Britain stared back. The room had grown quiet. Prussia sipped his wine, Sweden and Portugal watched the two men curiously, Austria shook his head and Russia's smile widened knowingly.

Even so, despite his anger, France backed down first. "Of how much are you giving me for these colonies? They deserve nothing but the highest price."

England smirked. "That will be decided at the Congress of Vienna. Now, if we're through here, gentleman, let's thank France for his time. After all, he did allow us to do this in the wonderful Palace of Versailles."

The other countries stood and bowed to France. He knew they were silently reveling in his defeat, but he maintained his pride and politely showed them out of the meeting room. Soon, Britain was the only one left.

"She is here, isn't she, Bonnefoy?" he said.  
France scoffed. "Of course she is. You already took the other colonies. I did what I could to make sure that you didn't smuggle her away like you did with Tobago and Mauritius."

"She's a rather special colony to you, isn't she?" Britain folded his arms and smirked at his enemy.

"You know very well that she is. Is she not special to you?"

"Now don't go starting that again, France."

"Well, if she isn't, than I fear what shall befall her. You won't treat her badly, will you?"

"Stuff and nonsense! You know I'm a gentleman."

"That has not always been the case."

"Now see here!"

"No. _You _'see here'." France suddenly jabbed his finger in Britain's waistcoat. "You better not harm a hair on that girl's head. You treat her in every best way imaginable, or so help me, I shall do everything in my power to see that you regret not doing so. And this comes from me, alone."

"Calm yourself, man." Britain shoved France's hand away. "I have no intention of doing her any harm. Is she ready to leave?"

France remained quiet.

"You did tell her that she is leaving with me, right?"

It was France's turn to smirk. "I thought I would give you the pleasure of dealing with her yourself."

Britain couldn't believe his ears. "Good lord, man! Are you telling me that you didn't even tell her that you're letting her go?! And how am I supposed to handle this?!"

France shrugged in response. "How am I supposed to know? She's under your care now."

Britain could have slugged him, but he maintained composure and began walking out of the room. France was beside him.

"Well, could you at least arrange for her bags to be brought outside?" Britain growled grumpily.

"Her room is on the second floor, down the hall, and next to mine. First door to the left."

**…**

Seychelles had figured something was different. She had seen several men enter the palace along with some soldiers in strict uniform. Five men in particular had looked especially important. As she had been walking towards the part of the palace that led to the courtyards, she had noted that Britain and France were among them, and France didn't look very happy. At that moment, she had known. France was surrendering. Hours later, s

he sat in her room, pensively wondering what was coming next.

That was when she heard a knock on the door. Her head jerked in that direction and she slowly rose and walked up to the door. Perhaps it was France coming to tell her what would happen to him next. She slowly opened the door.

"France?"

It was Britain.

"Oh… It's you."

"Hello, Seychelles."

She wasn't sure what to say next. Her hand fiddled with the door handle and she stared at the floor. "Hello."

"I have some news for you. You see…"

At that moment, several of the household's servants and the maid that had cared for her during her stay at the palace came up behind him. He stood to the side and let them enter the room.

"Hello," Seychelles said, surprised. "What's going on?"

The maid looked at her sadly. "Beg your pardon, _Mademoiselle. Monsieur_." She nodded to Britain. "But France says we are to pack your bags and have them sent down immediately."

"_Pardon?_" She gasped as the servants began bringing out her luggage and carefully packed her belongings. She turned to Britain. "I do not understand…"

"France has surrendered his army and his colonies to me. That includes you."

The servants had finished and filed out of the room and down the hall with her bags. As they passed Seychelles they each looked at her sadly, sorry to see her leaving, especially with an Englishman. The maid was the last to leave. She looked at Seychelles and took her hand.

"Take care, my lady."

"All right, off you go," Britain dismissed her. She hesitated before quickly walking away. Her head was bowed and she didn't look back. Seychelles watched her leave a moment before turning back to the intruder. She frowned.

"So he has surrendered me over to you? And what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means that you are leaving Paris and coming with me back to my home. I can't take you to the islands right now. I have to get back to London immediately."

She felt like crying. No one had ever told her of this. France hadn't said that she would be handed over to Britain, and right now, Britain was the last person whose orders she would want to follow.

"Now get the rest of your things. We're leaving now."

She didn't have much to get. Laying atop of her chair was the old dress that she had worn before she had traveled to Paris. She had wanted to wear it again, for it was more comfortable and less restricting than petticoats and corsets. Other than that, there was nothing. She remained calm and dignified as she looked at Britain and said,

"A minute, please? I'd like to change into something more comfortable."

He looked impatient. "Fine, but be quick about it."

He closed the door with a definite _**snap!**_ When he was gone, she put her hands on her hips, tilted her head back and sighed. Things were moving too fast! She had to say goodbye to France and leave Paris, perhaps never to return. What was worse, she had a feeling she wouldn't be allowed to see France again. She knew he and Britain fought like cats and dogs, and Britain was far more stubborn than France. She knew he would disapprove of France setting foot on lands he had just taken for himself.

She sniffled as she slipped off her dress. After she laid it on the bed she began to take off the undergarments. She reached behind her to unfasten the corset… only to find that she was getting lost in all the knots and bows laced up her back.

_Oh dear, how do I do this?_

She was struggling for nearly five minutes with little to no success when Britain banged on the door.

"Seychelles, I said be quick about it!"

"I know! I'm just having… trouble!"

The door opened. "What's the matter with you?"

She turned her head, still pulling at the strings. "I can't get this off…"

Britain widened his eyes before running his hand through his hair, exasperated. "Good lord, woman! You… Oh, for the love of all things holy…"

He quickly walked up and began untying the laces himself. "I should not have sent the maid away. You really know how to push a man to his limits, don't you?"

She felt more than a little awkward. "I don't understand what that means."

"Don't worry about it. Almost done." With a few more tugs he had the laces untied. "There. Now, would you _please _hurry up? I would like to be out of here."

He left quickly. Now that the corset was off, it didn't take her long to change back into her old dress. She felt loose and comfortable again. The hat tied with her ribbons sat on the chair, and she picked it up. With one last look, she exited the bedroom, never to return.

Britain was waiting for her in the hall and when he saw her coming, he began walking. She followed him from behind. They didn't say a word to each other and Britain quickened his pace. He seemed anxious to leave the country.

France was at the front door to the palace, waiting. Britain slowed his pace a little, but Seychelles dashed up to France and threw her arms around him. She didn't care that Britain was there, watching. France was hugging her back, so she knew he didn't care either.

"Ah, don't cry, _mon amour._ You'll be all right. You'll be all right. Be strong, Michelle. Go on… It's all right."

Britain took hold of her by the arm and gently tried to pry her away from France. She didn't want to let go. She had felt safe under France's wing. He and his people had always been kind to her. They felt like family. They _were _family. Now that she no longer was a part of him, she was afraid. Britain seemed kind at times, but she didn't know if he truly was a kind person. His moods shifted so frequently.

Britain did his best to remain as gentle as he could when he tugged on her arm. He felt like the unwanted nanny or teacher that had to take a student away from his parents for the first time. Seychelles clung to France a little longer before finally letting go, but she continued to look back. She silently allowed Britain to lead her away from the palace and into a carriage. She stuck her head out of one of the windows and waved goodbye to the man she had loved as both a man and a father. She blew him kisses and cried. He raised his hand in return and she could see a sad, but encouraging smile on his face.

**…**

Britain continued to stare out the window as the carriage passed through the French countryside. They would be at the sea soon, of which he was grateful. The whole carriage ride had been tense. Seychelles had cried on and off for the first half hour of their trip and then she had resorted to looking out the window. Last time he had checked, she had fallen asleep. When he turned to look at her, she had her head resting against the side of the carriage. She looked a little uncomfortable, he thought, so he took hold of a small cushion next to him and reached over to try and adjust her head.

She opened her eyes at that moment and let out a sort of croaked sound before frantically shoving his hand away.

"Deuce take it all," he muttered. "I was just trying to help you."

She sat up and glared at him angrily. "I don't want your help!"

The carriage went over a rather large gopher hole which threw her across the carriage and on top of him. A string of French expletives came out of her mouth as she tried to shove herself off of him, but the carriage was still jostling them both so he just hung onto her until there was a steady pace again. She quickly pushed away from him and nestled down back on her side of the carriage.

"Look, I know you're angry with me…"

"What makes you think that?" she asked sarcastically.

Britain patiently closed his eyes. "But I don't think I deserve to be treated so rudely. It wasn't my fault that France didn't warn you about this beforehand."

She knew that, but she still wanted to be angry at someone, and Britain happened to be in her presence, so her anger was focused on him. She figured that she should be mad at France, but she just couldn't be, at least not yet.

"I hate war," she muttered.

Britain stared out the window. "I know," he whispered.

They reached the seaside and after taking in some provisions and resting in an inn for the night, they set sail for Britain's home. Seychelles was given a room off of the captain's quarter's and she was left alone. No one bothered her. There was food and drink delivered to her during the mealtimes and at times, Britain would invite her down to dine with the men, but she never answered him and he never pushed her. He figured that if she wanted to come out and talk, she would do so sooner or later. He was right.

Seychelles had grown bored from sitting in her bunk all alone in the past few days. She had books to occupy her time, but she longed for some company. True, it would be English company, but it was better than staring up at the ceiling for minutes on end, or staring at pages until her eyes ached. She began to wander about the ship. The men treated her politely, saluting her when she walked past. The officers also were polite, greeting her pleasantly and answering her questions with polite frankness. She decided that she liked seamen. They were open with no false pretense about them. And then there was _him. _She would run into him every so often up on deck when he was monitoring the soldiers or taking coordinates using the tools sailors used. Neither of them spoke to the other, but she had caught him watching her once. Only once. He seemed to grow more discreet afterwards.

Britain finally got to talk to her on the day before their arrival when she wandered into his office. She didn't say anything, nor did she look him in the eye. He had a feeling that she felt a little awkward so he kept his mouth shut and continued his work. He wasn't going to push anything. She would do all the talking. After all, she was the one who had been angry, not him.

Did he feel guilty about dragging her away from France's arms? A little. Yet he had also felt a sense of triumph. It had felt strangely good when he pulled her away from France that day, as if he had been the stronger country and there was nothing France could have done to stop him.

_Even so, _he thought pensively, _it's not much of a triumph when the colony is reluctant to leave… It would have been even better if she had left France with me of her own free will._

But he had no idea how that could have occurred. Seychelles loved France. She probably only tolerated him. Now that he thought about it, France always had more luck with the women, even if he never could keep them…

"Did you hear me?"

Britain jerked his head up. "Beg your pardon?"

Seychelles sighed. "I was just saying… Your - your office is nice."

"Well, this is just a ship's office. My office back in London is far nicer."

"Oh."

It got quiet again. Seychelles found herself occupied with a globe to the left of his desk.

"Britain?"

The sound of her voice caught his attention. "Yes?"

"I just… You…" she sighed. She decided not to stall any longer. Putting up a front just didn't suit her.

"Why me?" she finally asked.

That sent him to thinking. He formed his hands into a steeple shape and stared at his desk. Well, she was the sister islands of Mauritius, but she didn't necessarily have to be bunched with the other islands. Why her?

He sighed. "I don't know, Seychelles. You and the islands Mauritius are brother and sister. You both just were a part of the bargain France agreed to, I suppose."

"Bargain?"

_Oh bother. I probably shouldn't have mentioned that…_

"Well, you see…"

"Was I bought by you?" she exclaimed.

"I…"

"Did France… sell me to you?"

He didn't want to tell her that. He knew it would hurt her. It would make her think that she really meant nothing to France. She would hate him, perhaps, and Britain would be the cause of it. That didn't bring him joy, however. The reason he hadn't wanted to tell her was that she would be heartbroken. She had cried enough already.

But she didn't cry. She just clenched her hands and nodded. Then she went away, and he didn't see her until they were ready to dock in the English harbor of Brighton. Britain quietly watched her and followed her down the plank and off of the ship. Seychelles surveyed her surroundings and found that it was quite similar to a French harbor. People were still bustling and she smelled the same sea salt air and fish. The only difference was that everyone was speaking in English, not French.

Britain looked happy to be home. He walked with his arms behind his back, nodding to his fellow countrymen and tipping his hat to the ladies. She had never seen him so magnanimous. Little waifs ran up to him in their raggedy clothing and he patted their heads and gave them a shilling each. Seychelles watched him, surprised.

"Where is your house, Britain?" she suddenly asked as they entered an inn.

"Oh, I have one in London when I'm needed by my boss, but my preferred house in in Gloucestershire."

"Oh…"

He glanced at her and saw a confused look on her face. "It's in the country," he added.

"Are you going to go meet your boss?" she asked. Britain ordered a glass of ale and then answered.

"For a few days, but then I'm going to the country. He took a sip of the amber liquid before smiling at her. "Do you still want that Grand Tour I offered?"

Now that she was actually here, in his land, she realized that she did want to see more.

"Yes, I do."

**…**

London was as marvelous as Paris, if a little more crowded and busy. There were the same amount of carriages, children sweeping the sidewalks, and magnificent structures. Seychelles had especially liked the big clock tower that stood above many of the other buildings, chiming for each major interlude. Britain said that it had been named Big Ben. He then pointed out the large palace where he met up with his boss.

"I have to meet with him and talk about our affairs, but afterwards, we shall go into the country. I'm quite excited to be going back there."

He set her up nicely in his London apartment and she was left to her own amusements while he went about his business. It was a neat little place, not too shabby, but simple. Just perfect for a bachelor's tastes. While Britain was out, she took the opportunity to wander about the London streets. She never wandered too far from his lodgings, but she did experience some interesting sights, like a puppet show on the side of the street and she ate her very first batch of fish'n'chips given out by a vendor. It didn't taste… too bad.

Britain came back after a few hours. He looked a bit tired, but relieved. He heaved a sigh, tossed his hat and coat onto a chair, and sprawled onto a couch in his study.

"Good heavens, I'm tired," he sighed. He glanced over at his desk and started. Seychelles was sitting there, looking through a magnifying glass at him.

"Dash it all. Forgot you were here!"

"Well, thanks a lot!" she exclaimed. "You took long enough."

"I know. His Majesty asked a lot of questions about the surrender, about France, about our allies, and about you and the other colonies."

"Everything in order?" She lifted up a map and stared at it through the magnifying glass.

"Well enough. I cannot wait to go home."

"It's in the countryside, right?"

He sighed, that nostalgic smile was on his face again. "Oh, yes. And it's no big mansion, mind you. I prefer to live simply. I don't really enjoy lavish things."

She shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I prefer living simply myself. Oh, big glorious mansions and palaces are lovely, and I did enjoy staying in the Versailles, but I kept getting lost in there. I didn't know my right from my left." Their eyes met and she chuckled. "I guess that comes from living on a small island!"

England smiled. "Yes, I suppose it does."

Seychelles laid down the magnifying class and rested her chin on her hand. For a few seconds, the two just looked at the other, silently pleased at the fact that the two agreed on the same thing.

"Well," Britain folded his arms and propped his feet up. "Tomorrow we head for Gloucestershire. Get some rest."

"All right. Are you going to sleep on there all night?"

He shrugged. "If I fall asleep, I just might. Now go along with you."

She left the room quietly, for he was beginning to nod off right after he spoke. When she got to her room that had been reserved for her, she spotted a throw on the end of her bed and a thought occurred to her. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she reentered the office and just as she thought, Britain was sound asleep. She unfolded the throw and did her best to cover him up.

_If he is going to sleep here all night, he should at least be comfortable._

"Oh!" she tiptoed back upstairs and grabbed a smaller pillowoff of her bed. She lightly skipped down the stairs and back into the study. He was still asleep. With the gentlest of movements, she lifted his head and situated the pillow underneath. She felt like a mother tucking in her baby for the night. He stirred a little, but didn't wake up.

_When he's asleep, he almost looks like a little innocent child, _she thought to herself, smiling. She went back upstairs and fell asleep, admittedly curious about seeing the countryside the next day.

* * *

_By Jove, but she sure is the most peculiar of girls! _Britain watched as Seychelles skipped through the yard of his cottage home near the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire. They had arrived a few hours ago, and she had immediately fallen in love with the natural surroundings, especially the Forest of Dean.

"It's lovely!" she exclaimed. "Was that large forest the forests you spoke about when you told me about your home?"

"Well, yes," he had answered. "Among others."

She had asked him to take her through the forest later, and he had agreed. As he watched her amuse herself by looking through the garden, he began to wonder why he had even decided to bring her here, to his sanctuary, in the first place. She was just another colony that he had won from battle. He should have shipped her back to the islands where she belonged. But, after seeing her here in his own garden, bending over the flowers, he was beginning to think that having her here wasn't such a bad thing after all.

That's when he thought about the day before, when they were preparing to leave for the country. He had woken up on the couch to find his head cushioned by a pillow and a blanket keeping him snug. Seychelles must have done it, he figured. It sent a warm feeling through him, surprisingly. And in that moment, he understood why France was so protective of her. She was a bit simple, a little too carefree, but she was kind. So very kind…

The image of her small frame laced up in a corset came into his mind as well. Now that he looked back on it, her waist had a very attractive curve to it, as did her hips…

His eyes widened and he inwardly winced. To be thinking such thoughts! Why he had ever decided to go up to her and actually help unlace that thing… to be able to be that close to her so that he could smell her…

That same warm feeling rushed through him again. He averted his eyes away from the girl still bouncing in the gardens and went inside. He decided to take a glass of something strong to try and keep his thoughts in check. Then he did something else. He faked a headache and went to bed early. It didn't help much, but it got him away from her for the evening.

**…**

"Good morning, Britain!" Arthur awoke to the sound of his formal name as well as an annoying streak of sunlight streaming through his room. He groaned and squinted his eyes open to see that blasted girl at his bedroom window.

"By Jove, do you know how early it is?" he growled. "I consider this a holiday, you know!"

"It's only half-past eight! And you promised we could take a walk today through those woods! I'd like to get an early start!"

"Well, you've got a lot of energy, don't you?" he said wryly. He felt like he was looking after an energetic puppy that wanted to go out for its walk. But when his eyes adjusted, he was looking at no puppy. He was looking at a young woman with flowing black hair that shone in the sunlight. He was looking at a young woman with big golden-brown eyes, and lovely caramel skin who was clad in a white nightgown. One of her sleeves had slid down to reveal a bare shoulder. No, this was no puppy.

Her smile was glorious. She hopped over to the side of his bed and knelt down. "Come on, you!" she exclaimed. "Don't stay abed all day! Let's have breakfast!"

And with that, she was gone. And with that, England knew that he had a _long _day ahead of him.

"_What _are you wearing?" he demanded when he sat down at the breakfast table across from Seychelles. She widened her eyes and stared down at her usual dress.

"It's the dress I wore when I left France's home," she said nonchalantly.

"Yes, and it's rather old, isn't it?"

She frowned. "I suppose…"

"Right." He put his napkin to the side and rose from his seat. He walked over to a side table and rang the bell, summoning the washer woman into the room.

"Take down some measurements for this lady here, and order her a new dress. Actually make that a couple or more."

The woman gestured for Seychelles to rise. "Let me look at you, child. Turn around."

The two appraised her for a minute or two before the woman turned to her employer.

"I'll send for some dresses straightaway, sir. Can't be too soon, either."

"Very good, Mrs. Briggs."

She left and Britain sat back down. Seychelles watched as he picked up his fork and knife and continued eating.

"What do you mean my dress is old?" she demanded.

"If you're going to be a part of the British Empire, missy, you're going to dress in the proper fashion of the day. The dresses will take a week or two to get here, I'm thinking. Now eat your food, or do you not want to go walking like we planned?"

She immediately picked up the silverware and looked down at the plate of meat, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms. "Is this a normal English breakfast?" she asked.

"Of course. What you've got there, my dear," he pointed to her place with his knife, "is good, proper English food, delicious and hearty. Perfect to start your day out with. We call it the Full Monty."

She smiled politely. "Well. It certainly is… hearty…" She picked up what appeared to be a cut of bacon. "What is this?" she asked.

"Some bacon. It's very good."

"Ah." She nibbled at it suspiciously.

"Look, don't pick at your food with your hands like you're some savage. The fork and knife are there for a reason, you know."

"Oh! Right." She put down the meat and began stabbing it with her knife.

Britain sighed. "Seychelles."

"Hmm?"

"Are you doing that on purpose?"

She looked up. "Doing what?"

"Being annoying."

She grinned. "Am I bothering you?"

He stared at her, decidedly annoyed. She laughed and began cutting her meat properly.

"Sorry," she snickered. "You're just so easy to tease. You should see your face!"

"I'm sure my face is perfectly smashing. Now eat like you're at least somewhat civilized, please."

She was still giggling as she proceeded to eat the breakfast. Whether he liked it or not, Britain found himself smiling in return.

_Good lord, she's just so French, _he thought.

Although it wasn't 'in fashion,' England had to be satisfied with Seychelles continuing to wear her usual old dress until the new ones came in. He mentally shrugged and they started off on their walk through the Forest of Dean. Seychelles was in awe. Since it was late spring, the woods were alive with greens and browns. She touched each individual tree she came across.

"Well," she said. "It's a little like my jungles. They are just not dense and humid."

"It rained a few days ago, I believe. Watch your step. The path is probably muddy in places."

"Well, why else do you think I went barefoot?" she laughed, revealing her feet.

England just shook his head. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe I am, but I can run faster than you without shoes!"

She dashed ahead on the trail as Britain just rolled his eyes. Honestly, did that girl have any sense of propriety? Since when did a young woman of her age frolic that way? If she was to be a part of the British Empire, she was going to have to be trained into becoming a proper English lady, no doubt about it.

_That's it. First thing tomorrow, I shall begin training her myself. _

"Britain!" he heard her exclaim. "Hey, Britain!"

"What?" he called back.

"There's this strange orange animal hiding in the brush near me! It's got pointy ears!"

"That's a fox, Seychelles."

He heard her make an excited "Oh!" and he saw her run off to the side, off of the path. She was running toward a large section of brush when she suddenly screeched and disappeared before his eyes!

_ "_Seychelles? Seychelles!" He sprinted towards the area where he last saw her, going a little off the path. He barreled his way through the underbrush, slipping once from the mud and found a large hole where the damp ground had fallen in. It was wide and looked deep. Seychelles must not have seen the fallen-in hole and had plummeted into it!

_Oh God, please…_

"Seychelles! If you can hear me, answer!"

He heard a faint call for help. England bent down and saw her hanging onto a loose tree root. She was covered in mud and she was struggling to find a foothold in the loose earth. With each flail, England feared her grip on the tree root was slipping. The bottom of the hole was a long ways down. If she fell, she would definitely sustain broken limbs, and even possibly break her neck.

"Seychelles," he said in a firm voice.

She whimpered. Her legs swung faster and her hands slipped.

"Listen to me. Michelle!" he exclaimed. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him.

"Britain…"

"Listen to me! Hold still, all right? You're slipping. I'm going to lower myself down and pull you up, all right? Now, stay calm!"

She nodded. Britain ignored the mud, laid down on his stomach and bent over the hole. He reached for her arm and gripped her wrist. She clung to him with her free hand and he slowly began to pull her up out of the hole. His hand slipped a little, but he clung to her and she finally got a foothold, allowing her to push herself up.

"There you are. No real harm done, see?" he said, trying to comfort her.

She whimpered and wrapped her arms around his neck, still shaking from the fall. Even though she was filthy, covered in mud, he didn't push her away. Instead, he held her, albeit a bit stiffly. They remained like that for a minute or two, until he broke the silence.

"Right. Shall we go back?"

She nodded, still continuing to hold him, and yet she didn't budge. He tried to walk, but she stayed rooted to the ground with her head buried in his chest.

"Come on, Michelle," he said softly, patting her back. "We'll walk slowly. Left foot then right foot, all right? Come on."

She did slowly begin to walk ever so little. She continued to cling to him though, and Britain felt like he was assisting a little child. He was compelled to lift her up and carry her like a toddler and after a few minutes of him dragging her along and him getting more and more impatient, he grabbed her from under the arms and hoisted her up.

_Fortunately, she doesn't weigh all that much…_

Her legs were around his waist and her head rested on his neck. She remained quiet. Britain hoisted her up a little and sighed.

"Come on, stop being a child. You're all right, aren't you? I've got you now."

"Mm hmm," she murmured.

He began thinking. He had to do something to get her back to her usual self. Back when she was lively and playful, at least so she would walk on her own again. Now that he thought of it, her lively, playful nature made him think of a song. He began humming it, and then broke out in full song.

_Dheannain sùgradh ris a nighean duibh_

_ N' deidh dhomh eirigh as a 'mhadainn _

_Dheannain sùgradh ris a nighean duibh_

_Dheannain sùgradh an àm dùsgaidh_

_'N àm na siùil a bhith 'gam pasgadh…_

Seychelles lifted he head and looked at him. "What is that?"

He smiled. "It's a song one of my brothers used to sing."

"What language is it in? I've never heard it before."

"It's in a language he and his people invented. It's called Gaelic."

"What is it saying?"

And England quoted:

_I played with the young dark-haired girl_

_When I woke in the morning._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl._

_I played when we woke _

_And when the sails were unfurled._

And he continued the song in the original Gaelic, followed by translating it afterwards:

_I played with the young dark-haired girl_

_When I woke in the morning._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl._

_On Monday after Sunday_

_We left the Orkneys on the Seonaid._

_Reefs taken in and reefs shaken_

_Waves under her bow and her booming and whistling._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl _

_When I woke in the morning._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl._

_D__ú__n Drumilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n_

_Is that not the boat coming from the west?_

_D__ú__n Drumilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n_

_And my love at the mid-oar?_

_D__ú__n Drumilli__ú__n muilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n._

_D__ú__n Drumilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n_

_And I ask the King of Grace_

_D__ú__n Drumilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n_

_To bring my love safely to me._

_D__ú__n Drumilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n, muilli__ú__n._

_Across the straits of Rome _

_We had to keep a tight grip on the boom._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl_

_When I woke in the morning._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl._

_Across the narrow waters of France_

_She was under control and the wind driving us._

_She wouldn't want a gift from a market_

_If a crown was her share._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl _

_When I woke in the morning._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl._

_Even if it were a crown of gold_

_She wouldn't want a gift brought home to her._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl_

_When I woke in the morning._

_I played with the young dark-haired girl._

"She doesn't sound very grateful, does she?" Seychelles murmured.

England smiled. "Well, perhaps she just wants to see her lover return home instead of any gifts he would send to her."

She fell quiet. Then after a moment, she said "I'm sorry for this. You can put me down now."

England gently lowered her down. She wiped some of the dirt off of her face and sighed. "I don't mean to be a burden."

Britain blinked, surprised. "You're not. When did I ever say you were a burden?"

"Well, I was just hanging on to you like I was a child back there. I'm old enough now to stand up on my own." She stood straighter and raised her head high.

Britain couldn't help but laugh. She was trying to look strong and proud, but she just looked like a dirty little waif. "Well, that's good to know. Come, I'll lead you back so that you won't fall into any more holes." He chuckled.

"Hey!" she exclaimed as he took her by the hand. They began walking. "I told you, I'm going to stand on my own now!"

"Yes, you will. But at the moment, I'm going to help you."

Seychelles stared at the back of his head for a minute or two. She smiled. Since when did he act so benevolent? So… sweet?

"By the way, your song was lovely."

"Yes, well…" England didn't look back.

"Your singing voice isn't too bad either."

"Thank you."

"What made you think of that anyway?"

He turned his head a little. "You did."

**…**

"It's a bit short, I think, Mrs. Briggs."

"Yes, I guess the dressmakers got the measurements wrong. It doesn't look too bad, though."

"It wouldn't be considered decent."

Seychelles stared down at the dress she had just been given. Since she had fallen into that hole in the forest, her old dress was now dirty and beyond all help. The washerwoman had thrown it away as soon as it was off of her. Now she was clothed in a light blue dress with puffed sleeves and white flowers embroidered near the bottom. She actually liked it. The only problem with it (according to Britain) was that it was too short. It fell a few inches above her ankles.

"Should I take it back?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "I like it like this…"

"It's not proper, Seychelles," England tried to reason with her.

"What does that matter? I'll be on my islands anyway. No one will care over there."

"It's just that…" he sighed. He really didn't want to debate with her at the moment. "Well, you can wear it around the house. Now that you have more dresses, you'll wear the other ones when we're out, all right?"

She rolled her eyes, but consented.

"And here I was actually beginning to think that you were a considerate person," she muttered.

England walked up to her and stuck his rather pointed nose in her face. "What was that?"

"Nothing!"

"No, I could have sworn I heard something."

"Well, you must be going mad and hearing things then. Now kindly get your face away from me!"

Mrs. Briggs, while standing there observing them, couldn't help but laugh. The two stared at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Forgive me, sir, but if you don't mind my saying so, you both look like an old married couple bickering over some silly nonsense. Now, go on, kiss and make up." She tittered as she walked out of the room.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kiss you." Britain turned and sat down on the couch. Picking up a book, he flipped through it distractedly. Seychelles in turn sat down on the chair across from him.

"I know that since you hate me, you'd probably slap my face even if I wanted to kiss you."

She looked up at him, surprised. "I don't hate you."

He flipped the pages with his finger. "Oh," he muttered. He was beginning to wish he hadn't said anything. He hadn't meant to in the first place.

They avoided eye contact, or tried to, but after a couple of minutes of attempting to ignore the other, they both began to smile. She snickered. He did his best not to chuckle, but laughter escaped him.

"Your maid is funny," she said.

"She is a rather eccentric lady sometimes, I dare say," he replied. "Fancy us, being a married couple!" The thought seemed to make him laugh more.

Seychelles suddenly lost her sense of humor. She managed a faint smile when Britain sighed and rose from his seat.

"Well, I'm going to go inform the authorities about the hole in the ground out on the trails. I'll be back." He put the book on the center table and walked out of the room. Seychelles followed him with her eyes and sighed herself. This man was, what was the word? Insufferable? He could make her angry at one moment, and then leave her smiling the next. He would dismiss her without a second thought but then treat her like she meant something to him. She did hate him. But then again, she didn't. He had held her so tightly and had done his best to comfort her when she had been in danger earlier. He had even sung to her to calm her down.

She pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She didn't want to think about anything. She didn't want to feel anything. For Heaven's sakes, she had just broken her heart over someone who had sold her at a high price. She did not want to risk caring for someone only to suffer more heartbreak. But the more she thought about it, the more she feared that it was too late now to try and stop caring. This man, despite his bushy eyebrows, his funny way of speaking, his tasteless food and his changing moods, was slowly becoming someone precious to her.

_Oh God, help me, _she thought. _What am I going to do__?_


	7. Chapter 6: 1815

Chapter 6

1815

_Seychelles is making slow progress on her training to becoming a proper English lady. Things were a bit rough at first, what with her and the instructors clashing, but now I think we finally are seeing progress in her behavior…_

"That girl is an outrage!" Yet another matronly instructor in the art of good manners stormed out of the parlor of Britain's country home. She looked livid.

"Pack my bags and bring them down here at once!" she ordered.

Britain heaved a massive sigh. He could hear this entire outburst from his office and knew he should probably go out there and see what was wrong. Once he emerged from his study into the foyer, the _grande dame _accosted him.

"Sir, I cannot put up with this any longer!"

"What's the matter, ma'am?"

She tossed her bonneted head. "What is the matter, you ask? What is the matter? It was bad enough that the girl was incredibly _French, _but her entire lack of respect and discipline is too much to be borne!"

_Lack of discipline? Respect?_

"And as if that weren't enough, there is a complete vulgarity about her that just can't be tamed! She wears no shoes. Then she forgets to wear petticoats. Then she decides not to fix her hair. She slouches, pouts, laughs at inappropriate things and disregards any sort of tact when making conversation! I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland, but I cannot stay here a moment longer! May I have my salary, please?"

Her bags had been brought downstairs and the coachman was sent for. Britain sighed.

_Well, she stayed longer than the others…_

He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his wallet and retrieved the right amount of bank notes. As soon as she had the money in hand, she bid him a quick farewell and was gone.

"All right…" he muttered. Running his hand through his hair (which he had been doing quite a bit ever since he had met _her)_, he turned to the door leading to the parlor and marched to it, as if going to war. He opened to the door and there was Seychelles, just sitting there as prim and proper as any little English lady would. Britain stood before her with his arms folded against his chest and with the stance of a drill sergeant.

"All right, young lady. How old are you?" he asked.

She was taken aback for a minute.

"Do you know… I'm not sure!" she exclaimed.

That threw him off guard. He stared at her, and then burst out laughing.

"Are you serious?"

She grinned. "On my life! Well, I was young when I first met France, so I guess I'm grown up now… Right?"

She had a perplexed look on her face and looked at him with wide eyes. He couldn't help but think that she was adorable. He would never openly admit it, however.

"I suppose so," he answered. "Of course, you have to take into consideration that - Wait a minute! That's not the point here!" He shook his head, getting his mind back on track. "The point is why you are not acting your age - however old that may be."

"Not as old as you, of course," she snickered.

England patiently closed his eyes. "I am going to ignore that rude comment. Now listen, I know you aren't some vulgar girl with no decency or discipline. Even though it was France that brought you up, I know the man has manners, and thus he taught you some. Why are you giving these helpful ladies so much grief?"

She pouted. "They're so droll, Britain! I don't need their help to be a lady! And besides, what is there that you British do that the French don't?"

He heaved a sigh. "I'm not an expert in French customs, Seychelles. Did France teach you the art of conversation? How about the customs one must perform when they're at a party?"

She shrugged. "No, he did not," she answered. _Why is it important, anyway?_

"Well, that is what these ladies were trying to teach you. What are we supposed to do now?"

"You could teach me?" she suggested.

He scoffed. "I am not a teacher. You need a lady to help you in these matters."

The truth was, he probably was perfectly capable of teaching her manners. He just didn't know if he wanted to be that close to her day in and day out. When he had hired those ladies to instruct her in well-manners, he had been able to see her every day and yet be able to keep her at a comfortable distance. There was something about Seychelles that continually got under his skin, and he wasn't used to that feeling. It didn't agree with him.

They sat there trying to figure out what should be done. England decided that he did not want to teach her himself because there was already enough talk about her living in his house unchaperoned. Mrs. Briggs had told him about several rumors: that she was his ward, or his slave girl, or even his mistress. He should have figured that tongues would wag.

_Perhaps I should take her back to her islands soon, _he thought. _Don't need more rumors spreading about me… or her, especially._

"Well," Seychelles rose to her feet. "I shall go put some shoes on. Since I can't abide those teachers and since you won't teach me, I shall have to do my utmost to teach myself in the ways of a proper young lady," she said. "Oh, and don't worry! I know what to do." She stuck her nose in the air and spoke in a high, overtly proper voice. "You have to stick you nose _high _in the air and act like everyone else is a pile of ants under your boots."

Britain huffed and frowned at her. "You're not funny," he muttered.

She didn't acknowledge his remark, and instead picked up a fan lying on a nearby table. "Keep that chin up, missy!" She pushed Britain's chin up with the fan, as if she was the teacher and he was the student.

"And always remember to say things distinctly, not like you're some woebegone wayfarer who has no lick of sense."

_She is not funny. If I laugh, it will only encourage her… She is __**not **__funny._

"Please Seychelles," he muttered.

"_P-_lease, m'dear. _P-_ut your stress on the _p!_ It gives the lips quite a pretty shape: _p_-otatoes, _p-_apa, _p-_oultry, _p-_runes, _p-_orridge, _p-_rism."

Britain couldn't deny that her lips did look attractive when she formed those words…

"Especially _p-_runes and _p-_rism."

She was acting and sounding so much like the good lady who had previously left the premises, that England couldn't help but snicker. He immediately began to try and cover his mirth. Seychelles pointed her fan at him and grinned and he gruffly tried to clear his throat.

"Look here, you shouldn't make fun. It's not proper, you know."

"Not proper! My. Dear. Girl!" she flicked her wrist and the fan opened. Her nose went further into the air. "Do you mean to tell me that _I, _the Great Geraldine General, who has tutored and cared for the daughters from _three _influential families, am _not proper?" _Her voice squeaked and she fanned her face quickly. Her eyes rolled and she "fainted" onto the couch next to him.

"The injustice of it all! Young lady, I will go to Master Kirkland and demand my salary right this instant! I won't stand for this much longer!" She waved her fan under his nose.

It was just too much for him to handle and he laughed jovially. Honestly, she was acting so ridiculous and the lady she was mocking was, in truth, quite ridiculous as well. Seychelles mockingly glared at him.

"How _dare _you laugh, missy? Have you no decorum?" She scooted closer to him and lightly hit the top of his head with the fan. He continued to chuckle.

"For _shame, _m'dear! You must stop. Come now, stop!"

"You… you're just so…" he gasped for air as he looked at her. "You're so… ridiculous!" He burst out as he roared with laughter.

Seeing his smiling face and hearing his laugh (which was actually quite goofy) made her laugh as well. It warmed her heart that they were able to be so open and free without any constraints together. She rested her temple against the side of his head and they both enjoyed a moment of laughter.

_Of course, this doesn't help any in trying not to fall in love with him, _she thought. The thought troubled her, and she tried to ignore it.

Fortunately, there was a sudden knock on the door and Britain immediately jumped to his feet to put some distance between them. Mrs. Briggs slowly opened, the door, with a knowing look on her face.

"Beg pardon. I _did _knock," she said.

England cleared his throat. "Quite right. What is it, Mrs. Briggs?"

"You've got some visitors, sir. I told them to wait in the lobby, but they wouldn't. Heaven knows what they're doing in the house."

There was a look passed between the two of them, and Britain suddenly felt his stomach drop.

"Yes. Well. Very good, Mrs. Briggs, thank you."

She nodded and left. Seychelles watched as the Englishman squared his shoulders and turned to her.

"Seychelles, can you do me a favor?"

She nodded. "What is it?"

"Can you just… stay in here for a minute? Please? Until I send for you? This is going to be… interesting."

She agreed. "All right. Is something wrong?"

He quickly shook his head. "No! Nothing's wrong. It's just… stay here. Please."

With not much of an explanation, he took a deep breath, exhaled and left the room. Seychelles was left to ponder who it could be that could send England into such a bothered state.

* * *

Britain suspiciously looked around the foyer of his house and found it empty. He turned his attention to the upstairs.

_All right boys, where are you? I know you're around here somewhere…_

He heard the sound of the kitchen door opening behind him and sure enough, there was a man standing there. Seeing Britain made his eyes widen and a grin came over his face.

"Arthur! There ye are, lad!"

Britain sighed. "Yes, here I am. I'm not a 'lad' anymore, you know. I don't know why you have to continually call me that, and would you _please _not empty my larder after you've just got here!" He accusingly pointed at the tumbler of whiskey in the man's hand.

He laughed and walked up to Britain. "Sorry, but I canna help it. Ye've always got a good store o'ale around ye. And y'know how Aidan is always needin' more. Ye never seem t'run oot."

Britain frowned. "That's because I'm not bloody addicted to the stuff, like you and Aidan are, you wanker! Now, what are you doing here?"

The man's eyes widened. "We've jus' coom to visit ye, laddie. No need to get all uppity like ye usually do. A man would think ye don' care annathing aboot your own kin!"

"Is that true, Art?"

Another man walked down the stairs. A saddened look was on his face. Britain rolled his eyes.

"No. I do care about you boys, but honestly…"

"Well ye never seem t'show it!" The second brother said, still hurt.

"Aidan, don't pout like that. You're too old to be doing that."

"Eh, who are ye t'be orderin' him aroond? I dinna remember ye bein' the oldest to tell him what t'do!"

Britain stared at the first brother with a deadpanned look. "We're all basically the same age, Angus."

"All the more reason not t'be such a bossy pants!" Angus, so he was called, went up and poked Britain in the chest. "Since when did ye get all high and mighty?"

"He's always been like that, brother," Aidan smirked.

"I have not!" Britain exclaimed.

"Yes ye have!" Angus argued back.

Britain began to get angry and shoved Angus' hand away. "I don't need to be hearing this kind of talk in my own house!"

"Oh, aren't we tough? Why don' we see how tough ye are when I slam me fist in your face, brother!" Angus devilishly smiled and raised his fists.

"I'm not going to fight you!" Britain cried.

"Ye've grown soft too, then!" he shot back.

Aidan grinned. "Should I go get me fiddle and play a rompin' tune to keep yer blood goin'? I'm sure Alan has his pipe too. Oi! Alan!"

"We're not fighting!"

"Alan, where are ye, ya mollycoddled Welshy?"

"Aye, no need to be shoutin'."

A fourth brother emerged from the upstairs study and peered down the railing at them. "Wot's the matter, then?"

"Arthur and I are about to have a romp. We could use yer pipe to go wi'Aidan's fiddle."

"Ah. Got it right here, as a matter o'fact!"

"Excellent!" Aidan cried.

Arthur glared at his three brothers. "I am _not _fighting, you three! This is not a pub!"

The brother named Alan chuckled. "Wot's the matter, Art? Afraid you've gotten soft and that Angus'll whoop yer arse?"

"Of course not! I just don't want there to be a brawl in my house! Why does this always happen when you three come over?"

"We're just so happy to see ye, Arthur," the brother named Aidan cheekily grinned. "You know we always show affection with our fists. Come on, give Angus a go."

"I will do no such thing!" Britain exclaimed.

"Ach!" Angus shrugged. "Well then, I'll just pop back into th'kitchen and have a wee bit more of your fine whiskey."

He began heading back into the kitchen with his own devilish smile. Britain's temper rose.

"You touch one drop of _my _whiskey and so help me, you blasted Scot, I'll send you flying through the roof!"

He lunged for his brother's back and wrapped his arms around his neck. Alan and Aidan laughed as the much larger Angus began spinning around with the shorter Arthur hanging on for dear life. Once Angus tossed his brother on the floor the two began to scuffle while the other two brothers watched. Aidan leaned against the far wall that led into the parlor while Alan leaned over the banister. They were both having a ball.

"Looks like Arthur does have some fight left in 'im, Aidan!"

"Aye. Look at 'em go! Like a pair o'wild cats."

Arthur was beginning to get the upper hand, when the parlor door next to Aidan creaked open.

"Britain? What's going on? I heard some crashing."

"'Ello, 'ello, 'ello!" Aidan widened his eyes when he saw Seychelles peering around the parlor door. "And who is this?"

_Oh bollocks…_ Britain shoved his brother away and quickly sat up at the sight of the young woman staring at the scene before her.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked.

"And who is this lurvely creature?" Aidan exclaimed, stepping up beside her.

"She's…"

"Oi, didn't know you had a woman here, Arthur!"

"Aye, had we known, we'd ha' coom better dressed!" Angus jumped to his feet and tried to smooth his tousled hair.

In a matter of minutes, Seychelles found herself surrounded by three men who resembled Britain but who spoke in their own individual accents. The one who had spoken to her first was a bit shorter, with a shocking head of orange curls and an abundance of freckles. He had vivid green eyes, even greener than England's. Another man, a bit taller than the first was the one that looked the most like Britain except his eyes were a bluish-green color and his hair was a dirtier blonde. The last one, larger and burlier than Britain and the other two, towered above them. He had chestnut-red hair and deep green eyes.

"Arthur, coom introduce us!" he ordered.

She peered around the three and stared at England with a questioning look. Britain, still sitting on the floor, bowed his head in exhaustion. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

"That's why I asked you to wait in the parlor. I didn't want you to see us in this state…" he muttered.

"Aw, don't be like that, Artie!"

"Don't call me that!"

"Come on, now! Introduce us. It's not proper to leave us all without an introduction."

"And what would you know about propriety?"

"Hey! You know bloody well that I'm more well-mannered than these two!"

"Wot's tha' mean?"

"Watch yer tongue, Alan!"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, you three! Please act like you're civilized for once!"

They turned to Britain. Aidan smirked and folded his arms across his chest.

"Civilized, eh? Weren't you the one who just attacked Angus over a wee bit o'whiskey just now?"

"Oh, sod off, Paddy!"

The orange-haired man's face grew red. "Ye're about to make me very angry with yer attitude, boyo!"

"Am I supposed to be scared by that? I've always been able to knock you flat!"

"Come on, then! Have at ya!"

"Boys!" Seychelles shouted. It went quiet and the four turned to her. She heaved a breath and let it out audibly.

"I should like to know what's going on?"

The three brothers turned to Britain. He slowly stood to his feet and frowned. "Yes, well, allow me to introduce to you… my three brothers." His last few words were spoken wryly. He approached Seychelles and stood next to her. First, he pointed to Aidan.

"This is Aidan Kirkland, better known as Ireland."

"Ireland," she smiled. "Pleased to meet you!"

"Pleasure's all mine, miss, t'be sure!" he answered with a grin.

Britain rolled his eyes and pointed to Alan. "This is Alan Kirkland, better known as Wales."

"Pleased to meet you too!" she answered.

He smiled. "At your service."

"And this…" he let out an exasperated sigh as he pointed to Angus. "Is Angus Kirkland, better known as Scotland."

"Scotland. It's good to meet you as well!"

"Ye're a fine lassie t'be sayin' so. Now tell me, hoow doos a lovely young flow'r like yerself wind up with such a curmudgeon like Arthur, hm?"

"She didn't 'wind up' with me!" sputtered Arthur. "She's a colony. Her name is Seychelles."

"Ach. Tha's French, is it not?" Scotland said.

"Yes. I was raised French. But you may call me Michelle, if you'd like."

"Michelle. That's a fine name. A right fine name," Ireland said sweetly.

"Why thank you! You all are so kind!"

The three brothers all smiled and Wales took her hand and kissed it. She giggled and Arthur frowned. He really hadn't wanted these three to find her living under the same roof with him, for he knew that once she was out of sight and hearing, he would never hear the end of it. They had always teased him in the way he acted so proper and reserved, and now that a young, foreign woman as pretty as Seychelles was living with him… Heavens, but he knew the kind of things they'd tease him about, even though she was a colony under him. And then there was the fact that the three were acting a bit _too _friendly toward her. He was especially worried about Scotland and Ireland.

"So, have you three come to visit Britain?"

"Aye," Scotland said. "But the arsehole's treatin' us like we're nooght but yesterday's garbage! Tha's not very nice, now is it?"

"You really should treat your brothers better, Britain. They probably came a long way to see you!" Seychelles nodded sagely.

"It's not that far away," he growled.

Ireland shook his head sadly. "Ye see what Angus means, m'dear? No respect a'tall!"

"Oh would you stop it! You three are the ones who arrived without my knowing! How else am I to act? This is all extremely awkward!" He huffed and began heading upstairs where he could find some peace and quiet… and perhaps find something strong to drink.

Seychelles watched him leave and wondered if she should follow him. The three brothers didn't seem all that worried.

"He'll be back down soon," Wales said. "At least to make sure that Angus and Aidan haven't drunk all his alcohol."

"Who said we were gonna drink annathin'?"

"Well, ye do a find job o'downin' down any sort of alcohol, y'know, Angus."

The Scotsman roared with laughter. "Yer one t'talk, Aidan."

Seychelles couldn't help but smile at the way the brothers carried on. They looked and acted different, and were each fascinating in their own way. The one who seemed the most like Britain was Wales, but even he had his own quirks. He smiled a lot more than Britain, and there was a softer edge to his eye that Britain didn't quite have.

"Ah, where are my manners?" Wales said. He turned to Seychelles while his other two brothers continued to quibble and said, "So, what brings you to my brother's home, my dear? I'm sure you know him well enough to know that he's not accustomed to having lovely young ladies such as yourself stay in his home unchaperoned."

She did know that, but the realization of that idea hadn't really hit home to her until now. Was that why Britain had said things were awkward and was that why he hadn't wanted her to just bump into them like she had done? Were people talking, she wondered? She knew that the Brits were very stern about how men and women acted in each other's company, in the presence of others or when alone. Truth be told, it wasn't ordinary for a single man and a single woman to be left alone for a long period of time. It was indecent.

Seychelles began to feel bad for Britain. She hoped people weren't talking about him, and if they were, she wished she could find them so that she could promptly accuse them of gossip and explain how things really were. It was his own fault, she supposed. He could have taken her to her islands right after leaving France's home… Why didn't he? She still didn't understand that man and his actions…

"Well, now that you three are here, it won't be as indecent, will it?" she asked.

"I suppose not," Alan answered. "But still, it would be better if there was another woman present."

She imitated Britain by rubbing the back of her neck. "What should we do?"

Wales shrugged. "Nothing at the present. There's not much we can do, really. I say, does Britain have you here so he can turn you into a 'proper English lady'?" He made quote signs with his hands when he said the last three words.

She chuckled. "Yes. But we can't seem to keep any of the tutors. They don't know what to do with me. Apparently I'm too French for them and I have no discipline and respect."

He laughed. "That's showing the old biddies! You do seem to be… lacking in certain parts of your wardrobe." He looked down at her bare feet.

She laughed in return. Scotland and Ireland, still bickering, turned to see what she was laughing at.

"Wot's so funny?" Ireland asked.

Alan smirked. "Looks like our proper brother's having some trouble in taming his colony, here."

"Is tha' why you're here?" Scotland queried. "Ach, not t'be rude or annathing…"

"Oh no, no," Seychelles said. "That is why I'm here. I need to learn the customs of English society, apparently."

"Ye mean dancin' and the like?"

"Yes. But I already know how to dance."

The three brothers shared knowing looks. "Well," Wales said. "The English have their own particular ways of dancing."

Scotland winced. "Aye, they do this sort'o walkin' dance. No jigs or annathin'!"

"It is quite boring," Ireland agreed.

Britain, who had heard most of their conversation from above, stormed out of the study and leaned over the railing.

"I'll have you know that our form of dance is one of the finest! It has fluidity, it brings the men and women close without getting uncomfortable and we have lovely music playing along! Your jigs and whatnot leave your people looking ridiculous!"

He stomped down the stairs and glared at his brothers. "I won't have you three teaching her some silly Celtic dances."

"She'd ha'more fun…" Scotland muttered.

"But not elegance nor refinement. And since you are _my _colony," he turned his attention to her, "you will learn what I tell you to learn."

Seychelles glared back at him. "That's incredibly rude of you! Why can't you be more nice all the time, like your brothers are!"

Those said brothers snickered and grinned.

"Like my- Nice all the-" he sputtered. "You." He placed his hand on her back and ushered her forcefully toward the stairs. "Go upstairs and… I dunno. Read a book or something. I need to talk to my brothers." He ignored her protests on being "manhandled" and jabbed his finger to the second floor.

"If you would be so kind," he said through his teeth. She huffed, tossed her head and stomped up the stairs. When she entered her room, she slammed the door behind her. Britain sighed exasperatedly and turned to his brothers.

"Listen you three…" He paused when the sound of Seychelles' bedroom door opening was suddenly heard. They peered upwards and saw her heading toward his study. She paused and looked down at them.

"I need to get a book!" she shouted. She was in the study for a minute and then they saw her storm back to her room. She slammed the door again.

"Dear Heavens…" Britain rubbed his forehead. "All right, boys, I'm sorry for being rude, angry, whatever. But please, try to keep things calm while you're here. I don't think she's met anyone quite like… you three."

"Does that mean we can't teach her anyting about us?" Ireland pouted.

"Not dancing anyway."

"Ach!" Scotland scoffed. "Ye're no fun, lad! Why, if I had a bonny lass like tha'un, I'd show her a real good time!"

"I dread to know what your idea of 'a good time' is, Angus," Britain retorted.

"Why is she here, really?" Ireland asked. "Admit it, brother! You just wanted to take the lovely lady home, didn't ya?" He grinned.

Arthur knew it would turn to this kind of talk. "Nothing of the sort," he growled.

"Aw, come off it! Look, ah don' blame ya! She's…" Angus smiled and shook his head. "She sure is…"

"Watch what you say!" Britain snapped.

Wales chuckled. "All we're trying to say is that having a lovely young lady like Michelle here - with you - alone - may not have been the smartest idea, Arthur."

"So come on. Tell us why she's really here." Aidan wrapped his arm around Britain's shoulders. "Did ya want to woo the girl?"

Arthur gaped. "What?"

"Perhaps you felt like you had to show her what she was getting herself into before she started a relationship with you?"

"No! That wasn't it at all!" He backed away from Ireland and his other two brothers. "All I wanted was to get home as soon as possible, and her islands are a long ways away from France's home! So I decided to take a little holiday here before I took her back! Then the idea of the lessons came to mind."

The three looked at each other. Then back at Arthur skeptically.

"And… that's all?" Wales queried.

"Yes!" Arthur nodded emphatically. "That's _all._"

He was shocked and a little angry to find them looking a bit disappointed.

"Well, tha's spoiled our fun, hasn't it lads?" Scotland muttered.

"What?"

"We were hoping you'd finally found a lady and that we'd be able t'tease ya. Guess ya can' win 'em all," Ireland shrugged.

Britain's face grew red. "You bloody-"

"Ah, well, look on the bright side, boys," Wales said flippantly. "At least we know that she's up for the taking."

"What?"

"Tha's right!" Scotland grinned. "Ya wouldn't care if we tried to woo her and see which one she'd take, would ye, Art?"

"Now see here!"

"Wha's the matter?"

"You can't just … just…"

Wales smirked. "Just what, pray tell?"

"Ya can't blame us!" Ireland exclaimed. "She's a fine, sweet lady. And pretty to boot. Who wouldn't want to woo the girl?"

"Look, she is _my _colony, and I won't have you … fraternizing with her!"

"You seem quite protective of her."

"I damn well will be with you three around!"

"What? We're gen'l'men, right lads?"

"Aye. Ya know we've never harmed a lassie!"

"This is different!"

"Why?" Wales retorted. "Because she's your 'colony'? Is that the only way you see her?" he demanded.

Things were starting to get uncomfortable. "Well, no… She's…"

"She's what? A girl? A child to protect? Like the young America?"

She was definitely not like America. "Not really… I…"

"Then what is she to you?"

"I don't know, all right!" Britain shouted. That stopped the three. They stared at him. Britain, in the meantime, was beginning to feel very upset. And he had no idea why.

"Look," he rubbed his face with his hands. "She's just… special, I guess. And she's gone through some hard times already. I just… I just don't want her to be hurt by anyone or anything… All right?"

The three continued to stare until Wales slowly began to smile. "Well. We won't do anything rash, all right?"

"Aye," Ireland said. "We'll be like angels."

"Noot that ah blame ya fore bein' so defensive," Scotland nodded. "She is indeed special."

"Good." Britain folded his arms. All the composure that he had lost just a few minutes ago had returned. He was his normal no-nonsense self again. "Now," he took a breath and let it out. "I suppose I have to go and straighten things out with her. Wish me luck?"

The three grinned. Scotland clapped him on the shoulder.

"Get aloong wi'ye, lad."

"Ye'll need all the help ye can get."

Britain sighed. "Thanks for the encouragement."

Wales laughed. "Go on. Make the lass smile again."

He didn't know what that was supposed to mean (and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know what it did mean) so he merely nodded and headed up the stairs. When he stood in front of the door to her bedroom he hesitated. He needed to prepare himself for a load of French verbal attacks. Possible cussing would also be involved, he was thinking. After that moment of preparation, he knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still no answer.

"Erm, Seychelles?" He knocked once more before pressing his ear to the door to see if he could hear her. He figured she was ignoring his knocks, but he couldn't hear any movement. When he tested the doorknob, he found it to be unlocked, so he slowly turned it and inched the door open.

"Seychelles?"

When he peered in, he spotted the skirts of her dress sticking out from the side of her bed and as he slowly entered the room, he saw that she was lying on her stomach fast asleep. The book she had taken was lying on the floor face down. He bent to pick it up and laid it on the nightstand beside her bed. Then he sat on the side and watched her sleep for a moment. Her hair was partially covering her face and he smoothed it away. It had an interesting texture to it. He tucked some strands behind her ear, smiling to himself. Then his hand strayed to her pigtails and he absently began to run his fingers through them. She stirred and he drew his hand away.

Her eyes fluttered open only to see _him _above her. Her eyes widened and she let out a sort of squeak. She immediately grabbed the closest thing beside her, which was a small pillow, and rammed it hard against the side of his head. His head jerked to the side and she heard him cry out in surprise.

"What are you doing in here?" she exclaimed.

"Bugger!" he shouted. "That _hurt, _Seychelles!"

"Well, what are you doing in here?"

"I came to talk to you!"

"What for?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe to apologize?" His tone was sarcastic.

She was quiet and slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Apologize?"

"For the way I acted earlier."

"Oh." She frowned. "Yes, you were quite rude."

"I was stressed and not in the best of moods. But now I'm here to tell you I am sorry for practically shoving you upstairs."

She stared at him for a minute. Then she looked away. "I am sorry too. I wasn't exactly kind to you either."

He shrugged. "If you are referring to when you compared me to my brothers, I understand what you meant. I am quite different from those three and sometimes they're just too much for me to handle. That's why I was losing my temper."

"Well, when I said you weren't as nice as them… I didn't mean it." She weaved her fingers together. "You… you can be nice. When you want to be…"

He wryly smiled. "Thanks."

He turned to say something but was surprised to find that she wouldn't meet his gaze. She also looked uncomfortable. He hoped it wasn't something he had done…

_Oh. Right… I was just watching her sleep a moment ago… I probably scared her quite a bit._

In actuality, he was far from the truth. She was uncomfortable, but it wasn't because he had startled her. She was beginning to feel a new sensation around him: bashfulness. Just telling him that he was nice left her wanting to crawl under the bed.

"Listen…"

Her eyes widened and she looked at him. His gaze was warm and he was smiling.

"I know that sometimes I can be boorish and cross. I know that you think that I don't like you. Well, that's far from the truth. I do like you, Michelle."

Her face was beginning to feel warm. She prayed that she wasn't blushing.

Then he took her hand and said, "And I think that Michelle is a lovely name."

Her heart was pounding. A chill ran through her and she felt the hairs on her arms rise. She lowered her eyes, now extremely shy, afraid that they would show him too much of what she was feeling.

Britain chuckled and she felt his hand rest upon her head. "I'll leave you alone now. Supper will be at the usual time."

Then he rose and left the room. And Seychelles, with her heart still hammering, pulled her legs up to her chest and tried her hardest not to feel. It wasn't working.

* * *

A few days had passed, and there was hardly any progress on educating Seychelles in the art of conversation or ballroom dancing. The reason wasn't that she didn't have any teachers. On the contrary, Ireland and Wales were more than willing to show her how to dance and how to act around strangers. The problem was that Britain would keep a close watch on them and the three brothers usually ended up fighting which left Scotland free to distract Seychelles and the two would end up taking a walk outside. Therefore, the lessons were not complete, and sometimes weren't even begun.

Britain sat in the parlor fuming. On this day, he had gotten into another row with Wales and Ireland and once again, Seychelles had disappeared with Scotland leaving the three sitting there in foul moods. They each raised their heads when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Britain said.

It was Mrs. Briggs. "Sir, there's… someone at the door." She seemed hesitant, which caught his attention.

"Who is it?"

"It's-"

"Arthur! Arthur Kirkland, you had better be around here!" A voice echoed from the foyer.

"That voice…" Wales muttered.

"Is that who I think it is?" Ireland hissed.

"Oh good lord…" Britain winced. "Of all the people to find me at home, it had to be _her._"

"You'd better go out there and see her."

"Yes, I know. Thank you, Mrs. Briggs…" he muttered. He turned to find his two brothers exiting the parlor via the door leading to the garden.

"Where do you think you're going?" he hissed. "She's your sister too, you know!"

"Perhaps," Ireland answered.

"But she's not _our _twin!" Wales replied.

Britain glared at them. "Get back 'ere!"

They disobeyed his demand and dashed outside and Britain was left utterly alone to face the visitor. Even Mrs. Briggs had left. He squared his shoulders.

_Focus, Kirkland. You've faced the enemy dozens of times and never backed down once. Remember Waterloo! Remember Trafalgar! Compared to those battles, this is child's play!_

"Right," he muttered. "I'll just go out there and be friendly and civil. I won't let her rankle my mood."

He nodded and with a swoop of his arm, opened the door. That's when he saw her, or more appropriately, when she saw him. Arthur forced a smile onto his face.

"Alice!" he said. "Good to see you."

The woman, better known as Alice, stood straight and as tall has her brother. She had the same blonde hair like him, which was perhaps a little darker than his. Her eyes had more of a grayish tone than his green ones, and she wore spectacles. Other than that though, the two looked exactly the same. She was wearing a dress of dark blue taffeta and her hair was pulled back into a chiffon with parted bangs resting on her forehead. Her facial features hinted beauty, if not for the stern gaze and the tight way she kept her lips closed.

She marched over to her brother. "Arthur," she said.

"What brings you here, old girl?"

Her semi-thick brows arched. "Plenty, I assure you. Where in Heaven's name have you been? Do you know how long I've been kept waiting by your door?"

"Well, sister, I was occupied…"

"Ah, I see. Too occupied to greet your own flesh and blood. So that is how things are? You go off to war and win _such_ a brave victory, and you don't even stop by to visit when the battle is done?" Her tone was sarcastic.

"Well, dear, you see…"

"No. No, I don't need to hear any more. I understand. I know you're such a _busy _man with _so much _to do that you can't take the time to say hello to the sister who cared for you all those years ago when our mother disappeared. When the Vikings were storming our shores and pillaging our towns, who was it that assisted you and nursed you back to health when you were wounded?"

"Alice, really. That was so long ago…"

"Well, don't expect me to always be there to tend to you. Next time you find yourself fraught with danger and crawling back home, I might not be there to help you. You just remember that, Arthur."

He felt a headache coming. "Yes, yes. I know all that. I do appreciate you, Alice. It's just that…"

She raised her hand. "I told you I don't want to hear it. Where are your manners, Arthur? Aren't you at least going to invite me to sit down?"

"Oh. Right! Please, come sit." He ushered her into the parlor and the two were seated. Alice kept her back straight and neatly folded her hands into her lap. It was quiet for a moment. The awkward silence was only disturbed by the sound of the clock ticking away its minutes. Arthur felt his headache increase. Of all the people to entertain today, it had to be his sister. He loved her, but sometimes she was just so difficult to be around. Her no-nonsense attitude was worse than his own, although that probably came from a hard beginning of fending for themselves and caring for each other. In the beginning, the two of them hadn't been as cultured or educated as they were now, and it took a lot of work, blood, tears and sweat to grow as they had done. Alice had hardened and was now a lady of propriety and sense. Sometimes Arthur wished she had remained the little girl he had once known who didn't mind running around in bare feet through the mud and who didn't mind letting her hair get all messy and tangled.

"Arthur," he heard her say.

"Yes?"

"I should like some tea, if you would be so kind."

"Oh! Of course." He rose from his seat and rang a bell which brought Mrs. Briggs in.

"Please be so good as to bring us some tea, Mrs. Briggs," he said.

She nodded and wordlessly exited the room. Arthur sat back down and met his sister's analyzing stare. He cleared his throat.

"So… what brings you here, sister?"

"Rumors, Arthur."

He blinked. "Rumors?"

"Yes." Her voice was starting to have a hard edge to it. "It appears that on your arrival and also on your leave from London, you were seen with a young woman. A foreigner, to be exact, and there was no chaperone with either of you."

Arthur inwardly winced. _This again…_

"You were seen going into your London house together and leaving your London house together, and not once was there seen anyone else of either gender accompanying you. Now," she took a breath and let it out. "Obviously, I thought that this was a preposterous notion! That my brother would never be so… forward," she gave him a tight smile. "Nor so openly indecent as to have such an affair or liaison with any young woman, let alone a foreigner. You've always seemed to be well-mannered and sensitive to our customs."

He couldn't help but smirk. "You forget that I was a pirate at one time, Alice."

She patiently closed her eyes. "Once. And then you were a privateer for Her Majesty. Then you moved on to better pastures, so to speak. Those … violent times are over. We are different now, becoming a great empire. And we have order and propriety that we did not have back then. What you did back then is in the past. What I am concerned about is the present."

Britain sighed. Alice continued.

"As I was saying, brother. I did not want to believe these fanciful rumors, but the ladies I am well-acquainted with who move in very important circles in London could give me eye-witness accounts of you meandering about with this girl. They said she was a young woman, beautiful and artless. I even was told that she had a _French _accent!" The word French had a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Above all, she was colored. _Colored, _Arthur." Her eyes widened. "Now, what do you have to say about that? Do you know what the people will say about this?"

"Alice, please understand," he muttered. "I… She… she's not what you think."

"Oh, and what do you suppose I'm thinking?"

"I suppose that you think she is some mistress or slave that I have taken for myself. That she is here for my own personal amusement."

"And is she?"

"No. She is … she is a colony, actually."

Alice stared at him nonplussed. "A colony?"

"The Seychelles, to be exact."

She blinked. "Do you mean to say the islands you acquired from that frog? The ones off the coast of Africa?"

He nodded. Alice was well-aware of all the countries' affairs when it came to war and colonization.

"That's right."

She raised her hands in exasperation. "Then Arthur, why isn't she back on the islands? Why bring her here?"

He ran his hand through his hair. "I don't know. I… I just wanted to get back home and… I guess I didn't realize how much talk this would make."

"Oh, it has made talk, you can be sure of that." She looked out the clear glass of the garden doors in frustration. "And how am I to explain this to everyone? It's not like I can tell them about who we are."

"I don't know. You could say she was your friend, and that you were going to rendezvous with us to the country, but you were delayed."

"But she is French!"

"Well, you can have French friends, can't you?"

"Not after the war!"

"You can say that you hadn't seen her in a while, since she is French. The war separated the two of you and now that it's over, you can both reunite. Something like that…"

He heard her sigh exasperatedly and she turned away. "I guess that may work, but that still doesn't account for the fact that you two have been alone here!"

"Angus, Aidan and Alan are here," he said.

"Really?" she said, surprised. "Well. Even so, you should have a woman around. Now where is the girl?"

"She's…"

The sound of laughter came from the gardens and the brother and sister turned to see Scotland and Seychelles walk up to the garden doors. Scotland was the first to notice the two English siblings staring at them and he winced. Alice ushered them to come inside and Scotland slowly opened the doors before sneaking away.

Seychelles studied the Englishwoman sitting up so straight in the chair. She looked so alike Britain that she almost thought Britain was playing a joke on them. That didn't seem like him, though, and she saw him turning toward them from his seat on the sofa.

"Is this the girl?" she asked Britain.

"Yes," he answered.

She stood and walked up to Seychelles. She stood an inch or two taller than her, and she scrutinized her face.

"Well, you certainly are a pretty little thing, aren't you?"

Seychelles lifted her chin. There was a fiery glint in her eye. She didn't like the condescending tone in this woman's voice. "And you are?" she demanded.

"Hm, and spunky as well. How ever have you managed her on your own, brother?"

_Brother? I suppose that makes sense…_ _They look so alike._

"Well, my dear. Since you asked, I am Alice Kirkland, and I am here because I am concerned with my brother's reputation. Do you know of what I am referring to?"

_Reputation… Ah, I'm guessing she means the fact that I'm here alone with him._

"Yes," she said. "I think I do."

"Good. Now that I am here, we won't have to worry about such things as rumors. You wouldn't want people to begin spreading rumors about Arthur, now would you?"

She suddenly felt very sheepish and meek. Of course this lady would be concerned for her brother's sake. Seychelles figured that this lady was just being harsh and condescending because she was secretly worried. Seychelles decided to not give the woman trouble. She fervently shook her head. "No. No, of course not."

Arthur stared at the two women. Seychelles, to his surprise, was actually docile and wasn't giving his sister any cheek. Perhaps that was Alice's doing. She always did have a way with rebels and fitful children.

"Well, I think I have the solution to all of our problems." Alice smiled and turned to her brother. "Why not arrange for …" Alice paused and looked at Seychelles. "I'm sorry, what is your name, my child?"

Seychelles didn't feel so offended that Ms. Kirkland was calling her pet names like that all of a sudden, for she knew the lady was thinking of her brother. She decided that she would think about him too, and treat his sister with respect.

"My name is Michelle, _Madame."_

"_Madame_?" Alice stared at Seychelles, surprised. After a minute, she smiled. "Well, my dear, I am no _Madame, _I can assure you. A simple Ma'am will suffice."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Ma'am," Seychelles answered.

"You're delightful. Isn't she delightful?" Alice chirped. She looked over at her brother, genuinely pleased. Arthur just gave her a look that said, _Weren't you about to say something?_

Alice nodded. "Right, well. Michelle, that is a lovely name. It's quite French, but it's lovely nevertheless. And your surname?"

"Gallaud."

"Hm. Quite French on both accounts, I see. Ah well. It can't be helped. Arthur, as I was saying, I think I shall have Michelle be my companion for a while. She shall come back with me to London, and I will make her one of the finest ladies society will ever see. What do you say to that?"

Arthur quickly stood up. "What?"

"It's no trouble. I've taken a liking to her already! With her pretty face, artless behavior and good manners, she will be the darling of the city. Plus, you won't have to worry about her. My dear, what would you think of becoming a grand lady?"

Michelle stared at Alice Kirkland with wide eyes. She didn't know what to think. Would that mean staying away from her islands for a long period of time? Would that mean being stuffed and laced up into big, frilly dresses and tight shoes? Would she have to have her hair pinned up in some outlandish fashion and have to sit up straight all the time and learn how to say certain things at one time and other things at different times? She had been through all of that with the several ladies Britain had asked for, and she hated those lessons.

_Maybe it wouldn't be so bad with his sister, though. She doesn't seem as bad as the other ladies. And yet…_

Would that also mean being apart from him?

She turned to Britain to see what he thought about his sister's idea. He wasn't saying anything and she couldn't tell by his face whether he liked the idea or disliked it. Finally, he spoke.

"I don't think that it would be a good idea, Alice," he said quietly.

Seychelles felt her stomach drop.

Alice was, understandably, taken aback. "And why is that? Do you want the girl to continue living here ignorant and without decorum?"

"No."

"Well, I'm afraid that is what will happen if she continues to stay with you. In the city, she will have plenty of interesting people to talk to. She will learn about culture, about music, and about many other things. She'll learn how to dance and go to many parties where she can come out. That is why she is here, is it not? You want her to be out."

"I want her to know how to go about acting like a proper English lady. That is all. All your blasted 'society' is not desirable."

Alice narrowed her eyes and stalked toward him. "What are you implying, Sir?"

He hated when she looked at him like that. It made chills run up his spine. Alice had always been formidable when angry. He folded his arms across his chest defensively.

"What I mean to say is that society can be dazzling at first. It has a certain allure about it. But inside, it's corrupt and full of gossipers and ne'er-do-wells of its own. Did you not say yourself that rumors were being spread all over town about me? Where do you think they started? From those 'ladies' that you want to introduce Michelle to! And when they find out that she's the same lady that they saw accompanying me out of London, and they will, you can be bloody sure that they won't let you or her have a moment's peace!"

"Arthur-"

"No. Alice, here I put my foot down. I let you have your way a lot of the time, but not here. Not when this young lady is involved. She will stay here in the country, where people are simpler and less concerned about the latest trends and gossip. Surely you can instruct her here?"

"Um, excuse me…"

A small voice was heard and the two siblings turned to see Seychelles raise her hand like a student in a classroom.

"May I say something?"

Alice's face softened. "Of course, dear girl. What is it?"

"I just want to tell you that I am grateful for your concern in my well-being. You want me to see new things, teach me and have me grow up some more. You want me to broaden my horizons, no?"

Alice smiled. "Yes. Yes, that's it exactly! And child, don't listen to him about all of society being corrupt. Not every one is…"

"But Ma'am, I don't think I would like it much."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm used to simple things. I could live in a small house with only a few neighbors nearby and little to no real 'society' if I had to. I grew up on a beach with almost no one to care for me until… Until someone came along and helped me grow. But he never forced anything on me. He understood that I like small and simple things, and that I don't like to be laced up or tied into anything tight or frilly…"

Arthur hid a chuckle.

"And I think your brother understands that too. I _am _adaptable, but I don't think I could stand being in the kind of company you're referring to for a long period of time."

Alice stared at her thoughtfully.

"I hope you understand. I don't mean any disrespect."

There was a pause for a minute where Alice studied both her brother and Seychelles one after the other. This had suddenly become quite interesting. This was the first she had ever heard of Arthur disapproving of London society. She also was never around him when he was training a new colony. Was he always so emotionally invested? She had heard about his interaction with America and how that had ended up. Even then, she couldn't remember her brother caring so much whether America was influenced by society or not. Yes, things were suddenly very interesting.

"I suppose I wouldn't mind staying here for a while," she said slowly, "if you do want me to assist Michelle in manners. Is that what you would like?" Alice turned to Seychelles who nodded in assent.

"I think we're all in agreement, Alice," Britain said, secretly relieved.

"Well then," Alice straightened her back. "We will begin in a few hours' time. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall begin unpacking."

She looked at the two of them for a few more seconds before leaving the room. Seychelles ran her hands along her arms up and down, up and down. Now what?

_He didn't want me to leave… He wouldn't let his sister take me to London! What does that mean?_

She furtively stole a glance in Britain's direction.

_I don't understand you at all. What are you thinking?_

Their eyes met and she quickly looked away. He stared at her for a moment. What was wrong with the girl?

"Well," he heard himself say. She looked up at him. "Hopefully this will stop all the talk about you and I."

She nodded.

"And don't worry. My sister may be formidable, but she's really splendid. Sometimes I think she'd do a better job in my position than I!" he chuckled. There had been many a time when he really did think Alice would have made an excellent leader… had she been a man.

"I shall do my best," he heard her mutter. "I won't bring you or her down."

She avoided his gaze as she turned and left the room. Britain watched her, confused.

_What has come over her? I don't understand…_

* * *

For the next month and a half, Alice Kirkland was busy in training Miss Gallaud in the art of conversation and manners. She had the brothers help out as well, even so far as to make them her dancing partners during practice. There were times when the two ladies did fall out, but Alice knew the girl had a free spirit and treated her with gentleness and Michelle was forgiving and repentant. Little did they know it, but the two ladies were slowly becoming friends. Even so, there were days when Michelle didn't know if she could handle so much etiquette and protocol. There were days that she wanted to hide in a closet so that Britain's sister wouldn't find her. She began to miss the sandy shores, clear blue waters and smiling, carefree people of her islands. Nevertheless, Michelle did her best to please Alice and get accustomed to the ways of the Britons.

Once Alice felt that Michelle was fully ready to be taken out and shown about to the public, she demanded that Arthur take the two of them into the city so that Michelle could be presented before the Royal Court. He had no choice but to agree, for that was the custom and he was sure that the Court would want to see her anyway.

"But I thought we had agreed not to take her into society, Alice," he exclaimed.

She waved his comments away with her hand. "It has to be done, at least a little, Arthur. We won't go to many dinner parties and we won't go to operas. But you and I both know that the Queen has to see her. When the Queen sees her, others will want to as well. Maybe we should inform them of who she really is?"

Arthur was beginning to feel tired. "All right. If that is the case, perhaps things won't be so bad. We'll only stay in the city for a week - a fortnight at best. All right?"

Alice agreed. And so, Seychelles had to bid goodbye to the three Celtic brothers for the moment, though she was loathe to part with them. She did not know when she would see them again.

"I am so happy that I got to meet you three!" she exclaimed.

Scotland smiled. "Aye. So are we, lassie!"

"Ye're a find girl. Arthur couldn't do better, t'be sure!"

She blushed. "I don't know what you mean…" she muttered.

Wales just smiled. "Ah, but I think you do. Take care of our brother while you're still with him, all right, dear? I think you're good for him. He's more patient with you than with us."

She didn't know what to make of that so she merely said, "If you say so. Take care of yourselves!"

They left on the same day that Michelle and the British siblings left for London.

The trip up to town was quieter and more peaceful than it had been coming from town into the country, for Alice made sure that everything went smoothly. Britain didn't do much but stare out the window. He wasn't too keen on returning to London. The place was stifling when the fog was considerably thick and sometimes the smell of the streets was almost unbearable. Then, of course, there was society. He wasn't as famous in the social circles as his sister was. Though the people tolerated him, he couldn't say that he was good friends with so-and-so or a club member at such-and-such gentleman's club. He didn't care for many of their company and they didn't seek out his. To be sure, he was on good terms with the men in Parliament, but he found himself more at home when he was around officers of the navy or militia, or even when he was back in the country shooting with local squires.

He was resigned to the idea of staying in the city for a little while when they arrived at the door of his sister's London house. It was grander than his. A manservant greeted them at the door and Britain couldn't help but notice the abundance of cards lying on a silver platter in the foyer as they walked by. He turned to look at Seychelles and found that she looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Smiling, he rested his hand on her shoulder and leaned close to her.

"Hopefully this ordeal will be over in a few days," he murmured. "You'll see the Queen, go to some parties and dinners, and then we'll be away from here."

She didn't say anything in response for a minute, though she gave him a small smile.

"You don't like the city much, do you?" she said finally.

He shrugged. "Well, not as much as the country."

She reached up and laid her hand upon his. "Don't worry. We'll keep each other company."

The pressure of her hand on his sent a warm sensation through him, and he found it hard to look away from her eyes. Maybe with her here, with him, the city wouldn't be as bad as it usually was…

Alice came from upstairs and exclaimed, "What are you two about? Come, I'm sure dinner's almost ready. And you both need to unpack your things. Don't just stand there like a pair of mannequins!"

"Right, Ma'am!" Seychelles called and Britain watched as she headed up the stairs. She still referred to his sister as Ma'am? Silly girl. He looked down at the hand that she had held and flexed it.

_What is coming over me?_

**...**

"Do not be nervous, my dear," Alice said soothingly, patting Michelle's hand. The two ladies, with Arthur accompanying them, were on their way to the Royal Palace to present Michelle to the court. This day had been long coming, especially for the island girl. All those days of practicing walking gracefully, bowing low to the ground, and learning how to manage a long train of fabric from behind without tripping had been near torture. They did not think she would be ready for this evening, but as they arrived at the palace, both the brother and the sister were relieved to see that she appeared calm about the whole thing.

Seychelles was continually telling herself to remain calm, even as they entered the massive building, as her wraps and outer garments were removed, and as the train behind her was situated behind her. She was inwardly longing for the moment when this would all be over. The dress she had on was large with a hoop skirt, low-cut to show her neckline and bare shoulders, and just all in all uncomfortable. She had to wear a headpiece and the train at her back was heavy.

"Arthur, you had better escort her," Alice whispered as they walked into the building.

"Why me?" he hissed.

"You're the Royal Representative, aren't you? They'll be expecting you to do it!"

He shrugged. "If I must."

He turned to her and suddenly realized how beautiful she looked. Yes, the dress was a bit… over the top, but nevertheless, he had never seen her looking so elegant. She took his breath away. The white of the dress was a lovely contrast against her darker skin and her hair had been done up in a way that let her black hair hang down in curls around her face. Those red ribbons she loved so much were woven into her hair as well, and a feather was tucked into the curls on her head. Had he not known her like he did, he would have figured she was used to all of this pomp and circumstance, but he did know better. He could tell by the little fidgets and subtle facial features that she was uncomfortable.

He gently took her arm and tucked it through his.

"This will be over soon," he whispered. It was his turn to do the comforting.

"And then comes the dinners and the parties and on and on it goes," she sighed.

He chuckled quietly. "Yes, I'm afraid that's how it usually is."

"What happened to me just staying in the country?" she hissed.

He sighed. "Sadly the Queen does not live in the country this time of year."

Seychelles sighed as well. She reached up to her neck and fidgeted with a necklace; a necklace made of coral. Arthur's eyes widened.

"Is that…"

She stopped fidgeting at looked at him. Then she smiled.

"Of course it is."

He wanted to say something. He wanted to _do _something. But everything was swimming around him and he didn't know what to say or do. The only thing he knew was that something was changing within him, and it had to do with this girl.

There wasn't much time to think about that, however, for the door leading into the inner court opened and the two of them began to walk into it together. People were crowded into the room, whispering to one another or waving their fans in an attempt to keep themselves cool. The room was incredibly stuffy, Seychelles noticed, and she began to think that the low-cut fashion of her dress wasn't too bad of a thing to wear.

They stopped before the Lord Chamberlain and Seychelles handed him her card that Alice Kirkland had ordered, made for this specific occasion. When the man introduced her name to the Queen sitting before them, Arthur let go of her arm and watched as Michelle slowly and gracefully approached the Royal. The mention of who Seychelles really was sent a stir through the crowd as the girl approached the Queen and gave her and the other Royal members a graceful, low curtsey. Her Majesty rose and planted a small kiss on the girl's head. Seychelles lifted her face to kiss the Queen's hand, and then it was over. A gentleman in waiting took hold of her train, put it around her arm, and she was now free to back away slowly from the Queen in departure.

Inwardly, Seychelles was cheering for joy. She didn't trip once. As soon as she and Arthur had left the main court room, she heaved a massive breath of relief and practically wilted against him. He carefully put his arm around her waist in support.

"That wasn't so awful, now was it?" he teased.

"Well, all I know is that it's over! Can I take these things off soon?" she asked hopefully.

He chuckled. "All in due time. Come, I'm sure my sister is waiting for us with bated breath."

They met up with Alice and she was ecstatic for Michelle. She even embraced her, albeit carefully, so as not to rumple her dress too much. The three left with lighter hearts and happy smiles. Once they got back to Alice's home, all three of them went straight to bed.

The next few days were a whirlwind for the ignorant island girl. She was swept away to parties, dances, dinners; you name it, Seychelles was probably there. Even though Britain hadn't wanted the public eye trained on Seychelles too much, when word got out about who she really was and that she had been presented at court, requests and invitations flooded their home. Alice was inclined to answer them, though not all of them, to Britain's relief. The lady honored her brother's request and only accepted a few of the more important invitations, with the excuse that Seychelles had to leave to go back to her island home soon.

Thus the two weeks of dinner parties and dances were underway. Many of the times, it was just she and Alice that went to them. Britain would stay at home. He didn't see the need to go to every party where, as he put it, he would just sit around and sample the wine. Seychelles hid her disappointment at his absence. After all, she reasoned, he had probably been through this many times. She didn't blame him for wanting to skip out.

At each party or dinner she went to, she was never alone. When people were not talking to her in little groups, asking questions about life on the islands and other such things, men were singling her out for a dance. She had become a pretty good dancer, fortunately. She had learned when to start, how to do the different steps, how the dances worked and so on. It was all like one flowing being, she decided. These dances sometimes reminded her of the streams that trickled through her jungles at home.

It was on one of the last evenings that the three of them were to be in London, that Britain suddenly announced that he would go with them to their next party. Alice just shook her head and said, "Finally!" But Seychelles kept quiet, silently reveling in the fact that he was actually going to be present. She wanted to stay with him all through the evening. It would be so much more comfortable to be with someone she knew, who would be as bored as she would be, not to mention that she hoped the two of them would stand up together. She had begun to wonder how good a dancer he was. Unfortunately, as soon as they entered their host's grand house, Arthur disappeared.

"Where did Britain go?" she asked.

"Arthur?" Alice scoffed. "He probably went straight for the whist tables. The man never wants to be noticed at these things."

_I guess that means dancing is out of the question…_ Once again, Seychelles felt disappointment and regret.

_P__erhaps if I had subtly mentioned something he would have agreed to at least one dance… I'm sure he wouldn't object to at least one… Maybe he doesn't know how to dance? He didn't help with the practicing…_

The thought left her curious. She decided that once this night was over, she would ask him if he knew how to dance at all. She figured he wouldn't like being asked such a thing, but that's what he deserved for being unsociable, she decided.

A young man cordially asked her to dance, and she accepted him. For the next several dances, she was among the dancers with different partners. Some were kind and jovial, others were reserved and quiet. Some were younger, others were older. It was during one elegant dance that found Michelle as the partner of an older, taciturn man. It was hard to carry a conversation with him, as he only replied in one-syllable sentences. This left Seychelles quiet and wishing she were back at Alice's home in bed, or better yet, on her islands where she could hear the waves crashing against the shore. As the dancers weaved to and fro, ascending up the line, Seychelles moved right along with them, flowing in between different partners to join back up with her own.

It was during one motion, where Seychelles and the partner of the woman next to her were to swoop in and gracefully circle one another, that she looked up…

Right into the eyes of Arthur Kirkland. Her eyes widened as she stared into those green eyes. Green like the palm tree leaves back on her island, and he teasingly smiled at her. They backed back into formation and the two of them with their own partners took hands and danced in a circle before forming back into the dance line, where Seychelles was obliged to dance past her partner and Arthur's partner and take Arthur's own hand. His other hand rested gently on her waist, but she could feel it burning right through the linens of her dress.

Their eyes met as they circled around to join with their partners and she continued to stare into his eyes. She didn't care what her eyes were saying. She just couldn't take them off of him. He was looking quite serious himself. His one hand held hers tightly until they had to break off to join their own partners. A few seconds later, however, the dance allowed them to be right next to each other again as they slowly circled together one more time. So many things were running through her at that moment. Delight, pleasure, confusion, happiness, shyness, and desire. A desire to tell him what she was feeling. A desire to wrap her arms around him and not let go…

But the moment had passed and they were both now facing their own partners as the dance came to a close. Her partner walked up to her, took her by the hand and led her away back to where she was when he had asked her to dance. She sat back down in a chair and looked around for Britain. She could not locate him, though. Suddenly feeling tired, depressed and warm, she decided to go outside for some fresh air.

Arthur had made a quick disposal of his partner. She had rejoined her daughters at a table and he which left him free to go look for Seychelles. _Seychelles…_

The way she had longingly looked at him when they met on the dance floor… The way his heart had beaten when she was inches from his face… He didn't know what to do. All he did know was that he had to find her and talk to her.

_Where is she?_

The thought that she was being entertained by other men, _younger _men, made his pace quicken. He spotted his sister at a table playing what looked to be speculation.

"Alice," he hissed.

She placed down her cards in silent triumph before peering up at her brother.

"What is it, Sir?"

"Have you seen Mich- Miss Gallaud anywhere?"

She shook her head. "So sorry. I have not. Have you looked outside? She may have taken some air."

The thought seemed to make sense. He thanked his sister and headed for the gardens out back. Outside there were lamps lit and their light reflected off of the water from a fountain. It was by that fountain that he saw the young lady he had been searching for.

_What should I say to her? _he wondered. _That she dances well? That it's a nice night? Good lord, I don't know what to do! _

He paused by the fountain, trying to figure out something to say that wouldn't sound forced. It was suddenly very difficult for him to find words. Seychelles turned in that same moment, and they saw one another. It was quiet for a moment before she smiled and said,

"It's a nice night out here, isn't it?"

That broke the ice as he had to laugh at the fact that he was going to say those exact words.

"It is at that. A man can breathe out here, compared to the stuffy ballroom!"

He walked up beside her and they both leaned against the fountain, staring up at the sky.

She spoke.

"I think I should head back home soon, Arthur."

He froze. She had actually called him by his personal name. She had said _Arthur. _The sound of it coming from her voice sent a thrill through him, but he didn't dare look at her.

"My people are missing me, I'm sure," she said.

_Head back home… The islands… _

"Yes. I suppose that is wise," he answered.

She wrapped her arms around herself. "Don't get me wrong. The time I've had here with you in your home, meeting your siblings, and learning all these things has been wonderful. I just…"

He smiled. "You don't belong here."

Her heart sank. She hadn't wanted to say it like that, but it was true. For the first time in their conversation, she looked at him. He looked back at her.

"I know that it's true, but… It's hard, nevertheless."

He was still smiling when he reached out and brushed her cheek with his knuckles.

"You will miss me?" she whispered.

"A little, I guess," he smirked. She frowned and shoved his hand away,

"You _would _say something like that," she muttered. He laughed and rested his hand upon her head.

"Ah, Michelle. Teasing you is so easy to do."

She tossed her head and stepped away from him. "I'm feeling rather tired all of a sudden," she said loftily. "Perhaps we should ask your sister if we could leave soon?"

He nodded good-naturedly. "That sounds like a splendid idea. Shall we go?"

He offered her his arm and the two of them walked back toward the house.

"So how was the party? You know I only danced a few dances."

"I know. I was surprised to see you dancing at all! You're not half-bad, considering."

"Well, I never said I couldn't dance. I just don't if I can help it."

She was puzzled. "Why is that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I would much rather be doing other things. It's just never been one of my inclinations."

She shook her head. "I'm sure many a woman have been left with broken hearts because of it," she sarcastically replied.

He grinned. "I'd like to think so."

"You're cheeky tonight, Sir!"

"Must have been the wine I had earlier!"

They were able to coax Alice into leaving early and the three of them headed back home.

The next day Britain had to say goodbye to Seychelles. She was boarding a ship for her real home. He was happy for her, but deep down, he didn't want her to leave. Whether he admitted it or not, he was going to miss her. Things were going to be boring again with her gone. She wouldn't be there to romp around his gardens, to wake him up at all hours of the morning, nor would she be there to tease him about his English habits and customs. Nevertheless, he also knew that she would never belong in the British society. She had to be on the beaches with her people. The island shores and the warm waters of the sea were calling her and she had to answer.

She looked happy. Clothed in that blue dress and wearing a hat with those ribbons tied around them, she turned to the brother and sister and bid them farewell on the Plymouth harbors. The boat was to leave soon. She had to board it.

Alice sighed and gave her a warm hug.

"Take care of yourself, my dear. Remember, I won't be around to look after you if you get into any scrapes!"

Michelle laughed. "I will, Ma'am! Thank you for everything."

The two ladies kissed each other on the cheek and Alice nodded her final goodbye before turning back to the carriage.

_Now to say goodbye to you… You insufferable, confusing, darling man._

Britain cleared his throat. "Well. You be sure to stay safe aboard ship," he said gruffly. "No bending over the side or anything."

He inwardly kicked himself. _What am I saying? I sound like a fool!_

She laughed. "I'll try to remember that!"

He frowned. "I'm serious. Stay safe! Like Alice said, we won't be there to protect… Look after you."

The teasing light in her eyes faded and was replaced with sincerity.

"Thank you, Arthur."

There it was again. She used his name again. He spontaneously took her by the hands and pulled her close.

"Take care of yourself, Michelle."

She squeezed his hands. "I will. You do the same! Don't get into any more wars with anyone!"

He sighed and gently smiled. "I'll try not to. Now get along with you. You'll miss the ship."

She looked like she was about to say something, but she just quickly nodded, picked up a bag she had been carrying and headed toward the vessel. Britain watched her, silently wishing he could either grab her and keep her with him, or go with her to the islands. Neither of those were options, however, and all he was left with were pleasant memories of the past year and these feelings that were continuing to grow inside of him.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Okay guys, I just want to say one thing real quick. I LOVE writing British people! Well, at least British people from the 1800s! Yeah, I'm sure I was a bit stereotypical at times, but I have an excuse. This **is **Hetalia, after all! :D So, yes. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! Especially with the entrance of Nyotalia's Britain!

Ok, here's the thing: In my headcanon, Nyotalia chicks exist with the Hetalia boys (and vice versa with the Hetalia chicks and Nyotalia guys). Why? Because _it works so well. _When it comes to the historical aspect of culture in different countries, the Nyotalia characters are good ways to show the opposite sex's way of life during that time, compared to the Hetalia's characters and how they lived life. For example, Arthur Kirkland would show us how a man lived in 18thC. Britain, but what about the lives of the British women at the time? That's where Alice Kirkland comes in so well! And in my headcanon, Alice would be more conscientious of the social customs, where Arthur - being the military and naval soldier that I see him as - wouldn't care so much due to the fact that he's more involved with political affairs and war affairs. And since Alice is a woman, all she would be able to do is focus on climbing the social ladder and entertaining the rich and socially important people. Ya get my drift? Same with America and Russia and all the other countries. The Nyotalia characters help expand historical events, I think.

Also, you can't have a historical story about Britain without the countries of Scotland, Ireland and Wales! I loved writing them as well. Of course, the stereotypes are there. Like I said, this **is **Hetalia. Ireland and Scotland love the drink, and are both a bit hot-tempered with reddish hair. Since I read somewhere that Welsh are closer to what British people are like, I made Wales more similar to Arthur, except that he's more mild-mannered. I also wanted to keep the A-names. Just because. Lol, and besides, I love the names Angus and Aidan. And Alan is a Welsh name. So there. XDD

Did I do an okay job of getting the accents across? I know it's probably heavily stereotypical on Scotland's part, again. But I just looove the thick brogue some of the Scots have. I don't mean to offend though. If these guys existed in the show, Scotland probably would have that thick Scottish accent anyway. ;)

All right. That's it, I think. Thanks for reading! 3


	8. Chapter 7: 1835

Chapter 7

1835

The sun shone high in the sky, beating down upon Seychelles as she peacefully relaxed upon the beach. She wasn't thinking about much, except how blue the sky was and how clear the ocean looked. It was November, and the north-western winds were blowing steadily, making it superb weather for boating and fishing. In fact, there were many islanders out fishing at the moment. Children were also running past her, laughing. Some were also splashing about in the shallow waters and playing on the rocks. They were all blissfully innocent, unaware of any troubles or worries that may be going on around them. Seychelles envied them for that.

A tortoise passed slowly by and she quickly leaned over to pat it. She was beginning to wish she was a tortoise. At least they didn't have to worry about what would come on the morrow. As for her and her people, well, with the plantations of the wealthy French peoples falling into decline, Seychelles and her administrator were beginning to grow concerned about how everyone would be able to support themselves and their families. So many depended on working for the upper class for support and their food source that if the wealthy were to leave them, many would have no jobs and thus, have a harder time putting the next day's meal on the table.

What was worse was that she and her administrator had to heavily depend on her island cousin Mauritius for new resources. While Mauritius and his peoples were not stingy, communication was difficult and many were beginning to murmur that perhaps being on their own instead of relying on the neighboring island would be better.

Sighing, Seychelles closed her eyes and flopped back onto the sand. She could feel the rays of the sun begin to turn her caramel-colored skin darker.

_I am relaxing. This is not the time to think about anything. Nothing troublesome, at least…_

Her mind wandered and she began thinking back to the days when she was a little girl, hardly older than an infant, living on her own on the islands with no other human contact. She could remember when she first learned how to swim. She remembered the complete feeling of freedom as she swam through the clear turquoise waters, following the fishes through the reefs in awe. She also remembered when she almost swam into a bed of jellyfish and politely passed them without disturbing them.

She had learned to speak to the animals before learning how to speak to humans. Each species had a distinct language, and she had learned the language of the marine life quicker than that of the land species. Those had been the days: waking up, eating some fruit or other such plant that she found edible, and then plunging into the warm waters to spend time with the fish. Being a unique human nation that she was, she had discovered early on that she could breathe under water far longer than the average human, though diving to the bottom of the ocean was still impossible. She did have to breathe at some time and the pressure was too unbearable. She had also discovered that swimming was made easier when she wore no clothing. Dresses, shirts and pants just weighed one down and she swam faster with nothing on. It wasn't uncommon. Most, if not all, of the people on these islands did the same.

At the thought of that, Seychelles began to contemplate going for another swim, especially when she spotted a dolphin's fin out in the ocean. Dolphins were fun to swim with. They were so friendly and energetic, and they didn't mind when she requested permission to ride on their backs. Before she made a final decision to get up, however, she spotted someone running toward her from the right out of the corner of her eye. It turned out to be a young man, who had the same colored hair and skin as her. As he got closer, she noticed that he wore no shirt or shoes; only a pair of trousers.

He jogged up to her and smiled. "Are you Seychelles?" he asked her in French.

She sat up and nodded. "Yes."

The young man laughed happily, clapping his hands together. "Excellent! I have been looking for you! We've never met before, but I have wanted to get to know you!"

"Oh, really?" she asked, surprised. She inwardly was curious about this fellow and how he knew of her before she knew of him.

"Yes! You see, we haven't met before because I've been living on one of the smaller islands, but now that you're a British colony I figured I should introduce myself. After all, I am connected to you."

She stared at him as he plopped down on the sand beside her. "You are?" she queried.

"Yes. You may not have known this, but I am actually your brother!"

_Now that is unexpected! _Seychelles didn't even try to hide her amazement.

"My _brother_?"She cried.

"That's right! Can't you see the resemblance?" he grinned, pointing to Seychelles' face and then at his. After staring for a few seconds, she admittedly nodded. Their skin was the same shade of caramel-brown, their hair was the same inky black, albeit his was short, and their eyes were the same golden brown.

"We do look alike! So you're my twin brother? Incredible!" She exclaimed, quite taken aback. The realization that there was someone whom she had never met before who was her actual twin left her both happy and shocked. The overwhelming feeling passed, however, and she began to think rationally.

_I suppose it makes sense. After all, Britain has a twin sister. Perhaps people like us have a twin of the opposite gender… But wait a minute…_

"How come I had no idea of this before?" she asked, looking at her new "brother." "Why haven't we met before now?"

"To tell you the truth, I only found out recently myself! I was all alone on the neighboring Amirantes islands until some of the French came and told me about you. The man said that you had been all alone on the islands just like me and that we were probably related. He was the one that said I should try to meet you. He named me Henri Gallaud."

_A man? Could he mean France?_ Seychelles looked at Henri thoughtfully.

"You wouldn't be referring to France, would you?"

The young man smiled. "Yes! Big brother France! He told me that you and I were siblings and that we should meet. I would have come to see you sooner, but the British appointed me in charge of relaying messages and requests to cousin Mauritius. I've been rather busy, considering." He grinned and leaned back on his hands, basking in the sun.

Seychelles pulled her legs to her chest and rested her arms against her knees. Her chin sat upon her arms and she wordlessly stared out toward the ocean.

"So… why didn't France tell me about you?" she asked after a few minutes.

It took Henri a couple of seconds before answering. "I don't know. We only met once. Maybe he forgot?"

Seychelles stored the thoughts of doubt and resentment she had toward France to the back of her mind and smiled at Henri.

"It doesn't matter," she said pleasantly. "I'm just happy to finally meet you! My own twin brother!" She reached up and ruffled his hair, grinning.

"Hey, stop that!" he laughed. He batted her hand away and gave her a playful shove. She kicked sand at him. He gently tugged on her pigtails. She shoved him and got up to run for the ocean. He chased her and both hit the water, splashing each other and doing their best to shove the other into the waves. They looked like a pair of little kids, like the village children whom Seychelles had seen playing earlier.

Seychelles was happy. Now that she had someone like Henri that she could relate to, perhaps she wouldn't worry about things so much. He would be someone she could talk to; someone with whom she could discuss on what to do with future crises of the land and the people. She wasn't alone anymore. On that November afternoon, with the warm summer winds blowing and the sun shining down, Seychelles found herself happily enjoying life.

* * *

It was that same November afternoon that found Britain not enjoying life half so much. Sitting in the study of his London quarters, he was staring out into the streets of the city… Or, what he supposed to be the streets. He couldn't quite make them out, for the London fog was quite thick, and it was everywhere. Its dirty, yellowish color gave a sickly tint to the outside world. Humans and buildings were all but shadows amidst the stuff and the smell of it was permeating the air so badly that even if the windows were closed, one could still catch a whiff of it.

It was because of this fog that Britain had decided on not going out for the evening. The stuff got on clothes and left stains that were a bother to wash. Alice, however, had gone out earlier, and he expected her back soon. Ever since his arrival, she had decided to come and visit him, claiming she wanted to keep house for him. He wasn't sure why, since she had hardly done so in the past, but he didn't mind. Her presence would add some cheer to the dismal city, if not much.

His head turned when he heard the front door close. Alice must have returned.

"Arthur?" Sure enough, he was right.

"I'm here!" he called back. He rose from his chair and headed out of the study. Peering over the banister, he saw her below, handing her outer clothing to the manservant. She looked up and saw him.

"You all right, Arthur?" she queried.

He rolled his eyes. "'Course I'm all right. Why shouldn't I be?"

Alice lifted her skirts up as she walked up the stairs. "You just seem to be a little dismal today, is all."

"Well, the weather is dismal. It does affect one's mood."

She nodded, understanding. "This fog is unbearable. Have you had your tea set out?"

"It's here in the study, if you would like some."

She gave him one of her rare genuine smiles and the two entered his study. As Alice helped herself to the tea on a nearby side table, Britain sat back down at his desk.

"So how are things?" she asked while stirring in cream and sugar.

"Things?"

"You know. _Things. _Like your affairs with your fellow nations… the colonies… so forth?"

"Ah." England perused some documents he had on the desk. "Well, our relations with France are not bad. Not good, but we're not fighting at the moment. America is still doing his own 'independent nation' rubbish. He's doing pretty well, though. I will give him that. He's spreading out and finding new territories."

Alice nodded, pleased. "Good for him."

"Our relations with India are good as well as our ties with Portugal, and I don't see any trouble occurring with anybody else in the foreseeable future. All in all, everything is peaceful for now."

Alice smiled at him. "That's very good news, brother. And how is that darling little colony I last met? You know, the one you've been writing letters to for the past several years?"

Britain paused in his movements and looked at Alice frowningly.

"She's all right, I suppose…"

"And how did she feel about you basically telling her and her people to stop trading with those who own slaves?"

He heaved a sigh. The British Empire had abolished slavery recently, which affected all of the colonies in that they weren't allowed to trade with those who still owned slaves or traded slaves. And Seychelles had written that because of the anti-slavery laws, many had lost jobs and the wealthy plantations owners had left.

"I think her people are struggling," he said quietly.

Alice sighed. "You don't blame yourself, do you? Or the rest of us?"

"Of course not. I'm glad we abolished slavery. It is a vile and cruel system…"

"But?"

"But… I do wish there was something we could do for the colonies that have to depend on such things…"

Alice shrugged. A slight smile was on her face.

"I don't know what I can tell you, brother. It doesn't look like there is much you can do for any of them. They need to learn how to fend for themselves sometimes. You can't be there for them every time they run into trouble."

Britain turned to stare out of the window back onto the foggy streets.

"That's the sort of thinking that started the whole mess with America," he muttered.

"No, that was because you were being stubborn and you wouldn't listen to anything the boy tried to tell you. You know, you can be a lousy empire to your colonies sometimes, Arthur. If you had listened to some of what America was trying to tell you, who knows how things would be now?"

Britain stared at her and she merely shrugged. "Of course, America is a bit of an idiot and would have probably still wanted to be on his own like the rebellious child he is, but there may not have been half as much losses as there had been."

Britain stood and walked over to the table where the tea set was. He poured himself a cup and added the desired amount of sugar and cream he was accustomed to. After taking a sip, he looked at his sister who was in turn, sipping her own tea.

"I suppose you're right," he admitted.

"Of course I am right." Alice eyed his face. "You still are worried about her, though, aren't you?" she said quietly.

She watched as his eyes widened and his back stiffened. "Of course not! At least, not more so than the other colonies!"

"Why don't you go and see how she is doing then?"

"I'm not that worried, Alice!"

"I'm sure it would do you good. She may be happy to see you too. Who knows?"

"Damn it all, Alice! Did you hear a word I said?"

"Perhaps a trip to the African islands would be in order? You don't have any political affairs to worry you at the moment. The timing is perfect, wouldn't you say?"

"Why would I want to go back there? I have no business with the islands right now! Didn't you just say that I need to let her solve her own problems sometimes?"

"I'm afraid I cannot go with you, though. I don't do well in tropical climates, and the Queen requires my company for the next couple of weeks or so."

All Britain did in response was roll his eyes. He placed the tea cup back on its tray and leaned on his desk. He didn't say anything, but began to think.

_There really is no need to go back there. It's been a few years and we've kept correspondence. It's not like she's been missing me. Plus I don't understand why I always feel compelled to treat her differently than I treat other colonies. I haven't seen India for a while, and I'm not torn up about it. _

He glanced out the window and noticed that a light rain was falling.

_On the other hand, a little change of scenery would be nice… and I do like the tropical beaches. Must be the pirate in me…_

He smiled to himself. Perhaps a little holiday would do him good. Of course, he told himself, this had nothing to do with assuring himself that Seychelles was all right. That did not factor in _at all._

* * *

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Seychelles asked her brother as they sat in the meeting place of their administrator. They were discussing affairs concerning the cousin island Mauritius and the problem of the anti-slavery movement set down by Britain. Recently, the British had decided to send over some of their slaves so that they could live a new life on the small islands. This was a problem, however, because without the ability to trade any new items because of no plantation slaves to harvest produce, the people of Seychelles were at a standstill.

Henri heaved a big sigh and shook his head. "Mauritius is having his own share of difficulties, Seychelles. He wants to help, but right now, he has to take care of his own affairs. He hopes to send us some supplies once their sugar cane is harvested and they are able to trade it."

Seychelles hated having to depend on the neighboring island. She felt like a little child stealing food from his family when he was more than capable to earn his own bread. But what could be done? Those who owned the people that planted the land had all practically left and those that stayed behind were doing their best to continue farming the land. It was a useless effort, however, for they were all beginning to realize that there wasn't much left the land could give. They needed to find a new line of resource, or the islands would have to be abandoned.

People were slowly going hungry. Seychelles could see it everywhere she went, and she was powerless to stop it. The meeting was adjourned shortly after their conversation and the brother and sister walked around the central town.

"I know it's easy to worry at times like these," Henri said quietly, placing his hand on her shoulder, "but you can't let it get to you, Michelle. The people look up to you. You've got to show them that you won't give up!"

She looked at him, a bit surprised. "Do I seem discouraged, you think?"

He slightly nodded. "I haven't seen your pretty smile lately."

Seychelles turned to look at several villagers watching her. Over time, the white French population had dwindled and there was a larger African denomination. They all spoke a type of French mixed with their own flowing language. English was thrown in at times as well. Seychelles, while walking and looking at their concerned faces, suddenly realized how much she had come to love these people. They were a part of her. If she lost them, she would lose herself.

A smile brightened her face. "Well, I won't let them down! We'll figure something out, won't we?"

At the sight of her change of mood, Henri couldn't help but grin back. "Of course we will! We're made of strong stuff. All of us are!"

She laughed and waved at everyone, smiling happily, as the two walked through the town together heading for home.

**...**

"Michelle! Michelle!"

With a start, Seychelles jerked up into a sitting position in bed. The early morning sunlight streamed through a small makeshift window and down onto her face. She heard someone pounding on her front door and calling her name.

_It has to be Henri… What is he going on about this early in the morning?_

She dragged herself out of bed and into the front room of her small home. When she opened the front door, she wasn't surprised to see her brother's smiling face.

"Yes, Henri?"

"You'll never believe what has happened!"

She rubbed her eyes. "What is it?"

Henri burst into her home and threw himself down onto one of her chairs. He was so excited, however, that he immediately jumped back onto his feet. Instead, he began pacing quickly. Seychelles, still sleepy from being abruptly awoken, decided to sit herself.

"Well, a bunch of men were really trying to find a solution to growing other things instead of crops on plantations…"

"I see."

"So, we began scrounging around the different parts of the islands to look for ideas…"

"Go on."

"And that's when it hit one of us. Literally!" Henri laughed.

Seychelles just stared at him. "I don't understand?"

"Coconuts! We can grow and harvest coconuts as a basic means of labor! That way, we wouldn't have to rely on plantation-owning slaves to harvest crops found on plantations! We could start from scratch and have everyone working free labor! Plus it would be far easier than having to grow cotton, rice or maize!"

That woke Seychelles right up. Grow coconuts? Why hadn't they thought of that sooner? Everyone enjoyed the flavor of coconuts and the plant was a good source of trade. It would fit right in with the spices of cinnamon and clove that they had harvested and traded in the past.

She leapt from her seat and grabbed her brother's hands. "Has this been told to our boss?" she asked.

Henri nodded energetically. "He sent planters to work straight away. Michelle, I think things are looking up for us! We can rest easier now."

Seychelles threw her arm around her brother with squeals of delight. He was right. No one would starve on the islands. People would be able to live comfortably again.

* * *

_Do my eyes deceive me? This doesn't look like an island going through a starvation crisis…._

Britain rode past various villages spread around the islands while heading for the central town of Seychelles' island home. He had been able to catch a ride on one of his fellow countrymen's ships that were sailing around the islands, scouting for potential slave traders that might be lingering nearby, trying to trade some slaves with the island peoples, even though Britain and his boss had declared it illegal.

From what he had gathered in her last letter, the Seychellois people were supposed to be struggling with the means of finding a source of trade. Because their plantation fields were failing, the people hadn't been able to gather enough food to trade for money and supplies. The people were supposed to be struggling to live, but as he traveled from village to village, all he saw were smiling faces. Women were taking care of their homes while the men were out. Children were running past him, waving as he rode by. He couldn't help but smile and waved back at them.

He reached the central town and found a bustling area where people passed to and fro, bargaining, selling, and conversing. There were some men playing music round a corner by a small French café. There were street vendors selling all sorts of items. Little boys swept the walkways in a fashion that was quite similar to the boys that swept the London streets. However, these islands boys didn't look half so ragged or so brow-beaten; Britain couldn't help but notice as he dismounted. One of these boys offered to tie up his horse by the café, where he would feed and water it. Britain accepted.

A warm summer wind stirred the trees above as well as his hair. Britain smiled. Seeing all of this – this happy, bustling town and its good-natured people – filled him with a quiet delight, as well as a mild case of envy. He was now beginning to understand why so many prisoners sent to these islands had been recorded saying that they had been sent to a Heaven on Earth.

And what a Heaven it was. Coming out of one of the bigger buildings was the girl Britain had come to see, whether he would admit it or not. This girl, with her light blue dress and red ribbons, who was becoming more than just a colony to him, was walking towards him, smiling at something that a young man next to her was saying. At the sight of this young man, with his arm linked with hers, something inside of Britain tensed up. He felt a surge of something akin to suspicion and perhaps… jealousy?

It was ridiculous. He didn't even know the lad. He could be anyone. Why did Britain have to immediately think that Seychelles was romantically involved with the young man? Well, Britain would soon find out who he was anyway, for at that moment, Seychelles stopped and locked eyes with him from across the dirt road that resembled a street.

So many emotions rushed through Seychelles at the sight of the Briton standing approximately ten feet from her: surprise, anxiety, joy, pleasure, and that bothersome surge of desire. Such emotions shook her to the very core. Indeed, she wouldn't have been surprised if Henri had remarked on feeling her hand shake, for it was shaking pretty badly. Her whole body was. She slipped her hand out from Henri's arm and began to fidget with herself: did her hair look all right? Was her dress a wrinkled mess? She hoped her face wasn't covered in dust from the dirt roads…

Henri saw the strange blonde man and saw how his sister reacted at the sight of him. He began to think. Seychelles had mentioned once or twice about her relations with the British Empire. She had always spoken of its representative with both delight and mild frustration. He could tell right away that she harbored some feeling for the man, though Henri couldn't understand why. In his opinion, France seemed the better choice for a lover, but Seychelles seemed to resent their big brother for something. She never said what, and she said it didn't matter, but Henri could tell that something saddened her when she spoke of France. Britain, on the other hand, she claimed to despise. Even so, Henri had always noted that she said so with a secretive smile on her face.

Never being the one to stand upon ceremony, Henri took his sister by the hand and headed over toward Britain. He decided that he was curious to meet the man who was supposed to be governing them. Once he and Seychelles reached Britain, Henri held out his hand in a friendly gesture.

"Something tells me that you're Britain," he said in English tinged with his French accent. "I'm pleased to meet you. My name is Henri Gallaud. I am Michelle's brother."

Britain blinked in surprise and at the lad's forwardness. "I am Britain, yes. It's an honor, to be sure. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised in discovering you have a brother, Seychelles. I have a sister, after all."

He took Henri's hand and shook it warmly. Henri gave his new acquaintance a small smile. So far, the man seemed to be decent enough.

Seychelles remained quiet. After the two men shook hands, she found herself at a loss what to do. She knew it was up to her to make the two feel at ease with one another, but the shock of seeing Britain here, unexpectedly, left her speechless. She had no idea why he was here, nor how long he had been here. Where was he staying? How long would he remain? What did this all mean? Was there something she or her people did that caused him to come over and discipline her in person? Was he here to check on the colony's stability? Did it have to do with his anti-slavery laws?

_Why? Why are you here? Why did you choose to come visit without so much as a warning? Did you stop to think how this would make me feel? Do you even realize what you're doing to me, you annoying, insufferable…?_

"What's with that face, Michelle? Aren't you happy to see Britain?"

The voice of her brother snapped her back to reality, and she stared at the two men, mortified.

"I… uh…"

"I thought you said you two were friends?"

"Well, _I_ thought we were," Britain answered. He focused his attention on Seychelles with a semi-mocking hurt look on his face. "Are we not friends anymore, Michelle?"

Her eyes widened. He had called her by her personal name…

"No… I mean, yes… I mean…"

Britain looked away, still acting heart-forsaken. "Had I known we weren't friends anymore, I would never have dreamed of imposing on you like this. I merely thought that you wouldn't mind if I suddenly came to visit… you know, since I thought we were friends and all…"

Henri pursed his lips, staring at both Britain and his sister in amusement. If this was the way they acted when together, he could see why Michelle would claim she despised him. Right now, she looked bewildered and lost. And yet, beyond all the teasing, he saw something in that man's eye. Something that said he valued this little colony, that she was important to him. That he cared more about her than he was letting on.

"You… You have got to be one of the most infuriating, despicable, shameless, irritating…"

Britain smirked at her. "Go on."

Seychelles paused and glared at him. "Just what in the world are you doing here anyway?" she exclaimed.

"What? Can I not drop by and visit every so often?"

"You could at least warn me so that I am prepared for when you do!"

Henri cleared his throat. "Should I go ahead and give you two some time alone?"

"No!" Seychelles barked.

Britain chuckled. "I don't think that will be necessary."

Seychelles muttered about "blasted Englishmen" and their "aggravating habit of doing things" before she looked back up at her guest.

"So where are you staying?" she asked abruptly.

He shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I just arrived. I haven't even thought about finding a place to stay as of yet!"

Seychelles rolled her eyes, but Henri slapped Britain on the shoulder.

"Why don't you stay with us?"

"I beg your pardon?"

_"What?"_

"Why not? We have room, don't we, Michelle?"

"I…"

"I mean, we don't have much, but we can put him in the living quarters where I usually sleep, and I can move. I don't mind."

"No, honestly, there is no need…"

"Nonsense!" Seychelles exclaimed. Britain looked at her in surprise. "You are our guest, after all," she simpered. "It would be rude of us not to offer you our home and hospitality. And besides, you let me stay at your home when I was on your island. It's the least I can do."

Henri grinned broadly and wrapped a friendly arm around Britain's shoulders. "All right, then! Where are your things, Britain? We'll be sure to take care of them!"

Britain stiffly stepped out of the younger man's arm. "Well, my things are with my horse. I'll just go and get him."

The brother and sister watched as Britain walked over to the café where a boy had fed and watered his horse. Henri turned to his sister to find her with a soft smile on her face.

"Admit it, you are happy that he's here, aren't you?"

The smile disappeared and was replaced with a frown. "Of course I'm not! He didn't even have the decency to write to me and inform me that he was coming! This is such a bother."

Henri bent down to look his sister square in the face.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that you're not the least bit happy to see him."

She put up a staunch effort to try and do so, but her feelings betrayed her stubbornness. Her lips quivered, a small blush crept over her cheeks and she looked away.

"That's what I thought. Don't be so stubborn. You should be glad he's staying with us! I'm sure we'll have a jolly time!"

She turned to see Britain heading their way with his horse and began to feel her stomach churn.

"I hope so," she said quietly.

Seychelles' home wasn't much to look at from the outside. It looked just like other village homes: small, makeshift, with only a couple of windows, and a shack out back for cooking and other necessary business. Inside, though, was warm and pleasant. There was the open living room where a few pieces of furniture were spread around a fireplace. Beyond that was a smaller room which he guessed was where Seychelles slept. Flowers and other tropical knick knacks were spread out in different places for decoration. The place was homey.

_I wonder why she didn't want to live in the main town._

Seychelles held her hands behind her back, anxiously looking around.

"It's not much, I know… Um…" she walked over to the fireplace and pulled out a cushioned mat with blankets folded on top along with a small pillow.

"This is what Henri sleeps on when he stays with me… I hope you don't mind…"

She was nervous and worried that he would look down upon her living situation, he realized. She kept darting every which way, and she was fidgeting; a sure sign that she was nervous. The last thing Britain wanted was for her to be uncomfortable, so he smiled to calm her nerves.

"It'll suit me very well. I've slept in worse conditions, believe me!"

"Are you sure? I can give up my bed if you don't find this comfortable! It's no trouble!"

She stepped closer to him, her eyes looked up earnestly.

"No, Seychelles. That is where I put my foot down. It would not be gentlemanly for me to take a bed away from a lady."

Seychelles could tell by the tone in his voice that Britain would not back down from this.

"So, are you gonna be all right?" Henri asked, coming back from taking care of Britain's horse.

"Oh yes. I will be quite at home here. As your sister here knows, I enjoy living simply."

He smiled down at her and Seychelles felt her face heat up.

"Well… then… I guess you will be fine… Are Britain's possessions here, Henri?"

Henri nodded, placing Britain's luggage neatly by the fireplace.

"Thank you, Henri. I am sorry for taking your sleeping spot. Where will you sleep?"

Seychelles' brother shrugged good-naturedly. "Aw, don't worry about me. I will make a small bed of my own in Michelle's room. Now, excuse me, but I've got to go see how the planters are doing with our latest seed. I will see you both later!"

And with that, Henri sprinted out the door and headed down the road.

Britain and Seychelles found themselves alone in her home together. Seychelles gestured to the porch outside.

"It's a lovely evening. Would you like to sit outside for a while?"

The idea was pleasant to him.

"All right."

Seychelles watched as her guest stripped himself of his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He then proceeded to untie the cravat around his neck and tugged it off.

"I suppose I was ill-prepared for the warm weather," he smiled.

She laughed. "Indeed you are! Here, let me take those for you."

She took the coat and cravat from his hands and carefully placed them on the back of one of the chairs. Then the two went out onto the front porch and sat down, watching the people and animals pass by, listening to the sounds of the jungle nearby.

Suddenly she heard, "Oh why not?" and saw Britain begin to pull his boots off. He laughed at her questioning look.

"It really is quite warm here!"

She snickered. "Are you better now?"

"Much!" he sighed in relief, leaning back and stretching his legs.

Seychelles sighed in return, but not from relief or contentment. Seeing Arthur here, smiling, acting free and happy, affected her in more ways than one. More than anything, she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and nuzzle the top of his head while he would just sit there, possibly talking to her jovially about any sort of topic. She continued to stare into nothing, enjoying her daydreams.

"Did you hear me?"

She gasped. "I'm sorry… What?"

He sniffed an amused laugh. "I'm sorry to take you away from your pleasant daydreams, but I was merely asking how things have been going over here."

She willed herself not to blush as she responded, "Things have been doing well. We recently discovered that harvesting coconuts make for good business."

"Ah. So have people found work from that?"

"Yes. No one has to worry about starvation any longer."

Britain was genuinely happy. "That is wonderful news to hear! I'm sure it's a relief for you as well!"

She nodded. "Oh yes. I'm sure you understand that when you see your people struggling to make ends meet – trying to live – it hurts."

He took her hand. "I do understand. I understand very well."

She let him hold her hand for a few more seconds before slipping it out of his grasp. It hurt a little, especially since she wouldn't look him in the eye.

He had to ask. "Are you all right, Seychelles? I didn't… do anything to make you upset, did I?"

She quickly shook her head.

"If you are still upset about my sudden visit, I do apologize."

She shook her head again.

"I mean… I know it was a bit hasty of me. But, well, the winters back at my home can be very dismal and I do confess…" he laughed sheepishly, "I couldn't help but think of these islands and of you…"

Her eyes widened.

"I just thought… 'I need a holiday! And besides, Seychelles had written that things were a little tough for her people, so I should check to see that they are all doing well!' I sometimes do check up on the colonies every so often… You just happened to be the one on my mind at the time, I guess…"

Her heart fell just as quickly as it had risen.

"I see."

"Well, good!" Britain exclaimed. "I really do hope I am not causing too much trouble though."

She shook her head for the third time. "No… no trouble," she murmured. "Excuse me."

Britain watched as she rose from her seat and headed inside. He was left sitting out there, bewildered, wondering what he had done to upset her.

Seychelles lay in bed that night, trying to sleep, but finding it hard to when she knew that the man she was in love with was sleeping just in the next room… in her house. Henri was on the floor below her small bed, snoring away. She tossed and turned every now and then, telling herself to calm down and just close her eyes. So what if Britain was nearby? He had been nearby when she had stayed in his home, and she hadn't felt this antsy. This shouldn't be any different!

She turned on her left side and her eyes could make out the form of her small night table in the dim moonlight that shone in from her window. Sitting in the table's drawer, she knew, was the handkerchief with the initials A.K. embroidered in its corner that she had long kept hidden since that day when he first saw her cry. The coral necklace was in there too, neatly tucked inside the handkerchief.

With a tiny groan, she buried her face in her pillow and tried her hardest to think of other things. She tried to think about the ocean and the fish that swam underneath its waves. She tried to imagine the vivid colors of the coral reefs and the various colors of the fishes' scales that glittered in the sunlight. She began to picture the dolphins jumping out of the water or playfully splashing, making their cute noises. She wanted to think of anything but the man sleeping just a doorway away…

Britain awoke the next morning to the sun shining down upon his face through the open windows of Seychelles' home. As he slowly came back to consciousness, he became aware that there was some sort of giggling sound coming from above. He squeezed his eyes once before slowly squinting them open. When his eyes adjusted to the morning light, he looked up into two young, pretty, girlish faces.

He blinked several times. "Ah… Hello?" he said.

The two girls gasped a little before giggling again and running out the door. Britain sat up, confused. He had never seen those girls before.

"Don't pay them any mind," a woman's voice said. Arthur turned and saw an older, rather round, matronly woman come from the inner room into the living room. She smiled at him kindly and wiped her hands on a rag cloth.

"Those were my daughters," she spoke in English with a French accent, similar to how Henri spoke. "They live with me just down the road. I am sorry if they woke you up!"

Britain ran his hand through his hair and situated the blankets around him so that he would look at least somewhat presentable.

"Ah… No. No need to trouble yourself, Madam. I just… I had no idea Seych-Michelle was expecting more guests."

The lady laughed. "Oh, I am not a guest. My name is Cleo and I help care for _mon petit_."

"By that, I assume you are referring to Michelle?" Britain began to stretch.

"_Oui. _The dear can take care of herself, she says, but I can't help but feel sort of responsible for her, especially since she cannot cook to save her life!" The lady laughed.

Britain smiled. "I'm sure she appreciates it."

"Well, she always thanks me and says, 'Mama, you do not need to baby me when you have your own babies to worry about!' But I always say in return, '_Chérie, _I can't just watch as you try to live on your own with no one to care for you. You're still young, and you have no mother. I never get tired of being a mother!' And that's the truth. So, did you have a good rest?"

"Quite. Thank you, Cleo."

The lady smiled. "Good. Again, I apologize for my girls. They can be silly when it comes to you men. The things that were coming out of their mouths… calling you _précieuses _and _adorable, _like you were some baby…"

He laughed as the lady shook her head in mild disgust.

"Well, Sir, I won't bother you any longer. No doubt you will want to get ready for the day. I will be out back preparing the morning meal. _Mon petit _says that you can dress in her room, and there are washing supplies out back near where I am cooking, if you want to freshen up."

"Thank you again, Cleo."

The lady nodded politely and left via the back door that was in Seychelles' room. Britain rose from out of his blankets, rolled up the mat, folded the blankets and neatly placed them all in the same spot by the fireplace where Seychelles stored it on the previous day. Then he grabbed his small luggage case and began to dress in Seychelles' room. It was as simple as the rest of the house, he noticed. There was one window by the back door, a small bed, a night table on the left of the bed and a trunk where he guessed she kept all of her clothing and possessions. As it was in the living room, there were various odds and ends and flowers strewn about for decoration. A pile of blankets and a pillow were bunched up at the foot of the bed, signifying what Henri used to sleep with the previous night.

Britain tucked his shirt into his trousers and winced, wiping away the beads of sweat that had already begun to stream down his neck. It sure was hot in November here. He almost was tempted to just walk around without his shirt on like he had seen many of the men do. He rejected that idea, however, feeling that it just wouldn't be proper. At least, not for him. He rubbed his hand along his jaw line. A shave was possibly in order. He retrieved a small looking glass from his bag and studied his chin and the sides of his face. Yes, he could do with a shave.

Now the question was where to get water and soap for it? He tucked the small mirror and a covered razor into his pockets and headed out the back door where he found Cleo starting a fire to begin the day's work of cooking. He was about to walk up to her to ask where he could find some water, when he heard a crashing sound. He and Cleo turned to see Seychelles sprawled on the ground with wood strewn everywhere around her.

"Oh, what have you gone and done this time, _chose maladroit!" _Cleo chuckled as Britain rushed over to help Michelle up. She quietly accepted his assistance and they both bent down to pick up the wood.

"I'm all right, Mama," she said. "Thank you," she said to Arthur. Her voice was quiet as they both tossed the wood into the fire pit.

"Don't mention it. Er, a question."

"Yes?"

"Is there perhaps some water and soap I could use for a quick shave?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh! Of course! We have a well nearby! I'll go fetch you some water. Cleo, could you give Arthur some soap?"

"Of course."

"I'll be right back!" Seychelles dashed to the side of the shack that stood a few feet away where she retrieved a bucket. Then she ran past them, past the house and up the road. Britain felt guilty.

"I hope she doesn't have to go far," he said as Cleo emerged from the nearby shack, carrying a small bar of soap. The lady smiled.

"She doesn't. The well is just up the road."

"Still, I feel horrible that she has to carry a bucket of water back here on my account."

"Don't trouble yourself. We needed the water anyway."

Seychelles was back sooner than Britain thought, toting a full bucket of water. She walked slowly, trying desperately not to splash any water out of the bucket. She placed the bucket down by the fire pit.

"There! Pull up a bench so you can sit by the bucket," she told him. He obeyed. When he was situated, he retrieved his small mirror and razor. Taking the soap that Cleo had given him, he dipped it into the water and rubbed his hands together so that suds would form. He was about to lather it on, when Seychelles spoke up.

"I could also wash your back for you, if you want."

He paused. Looking up at her, he saw that she was dead serious. There was an open expression in her eyes and a kind smile that signified that she was in earnest. He felt his face heat up.

"Erm.. no. That is… There is no need for that," he said gruffly.

"Why not?"

"Because!" He exclaimed, feeling uncomfortable. "The… the very idea! I mean… It's just not done, you know?"

"But you look a bit overheated. I think it would do you good. You could still shave."

He had to admit, he had been wishing he could take a bath. The heat was a bit oppressive compared to coming from the British winters. But even so, to think that a grown man like him would be washed, if only partially washed, by a young attractive woman like Michelle… Wouldn't it be as if he were at some place of ill repute?

"I'm fine, Seychelles."

"Oh, just let the girl do it, boy. You will feel better, I can assure you!" Cleo exclaimed. "Besides, I'm right here watching if you feel uncomfortable about it."

After a minute or two of mulling it over, he conceded.

"All right, fine. But don't feel like you are doing me any sort of service here!" he said grudgingly.

Seychelles smiled. "It's no service. I do it for Henri quite a bit."

She ran into the nearby shack to retrieve a washing cloth. Britain had proceeded in shaving when she came back and he saw her dip the cloth into the bucket of water. Taking the bar of soap, she began making some suds of her own.

"Shirt off, please," she said pleasantly.

He paused in his shaving to remove his shirt, admittedly feeling somewhat subconscious about it. He wasn't ashamed of himself, it was just that… well, it was somehow awkward around Seychelles…

"Woo, would you look at that white skin!" Cleo whistled. "It's practically blinding me!"

Seychelles laughed. "She's just teasing you," she said as she began to squeeze the soapy water out of the cloth and down onto his back.

He smirked. "Am I too overwhelming for you, Cleo?" he joked.

The lady just giggled and waved her hand at him. She proceeded in cutting up some fish.

Britain found that he had finished shaving before Seychelles was finished on his back, so he dried his face with his shirt and just leaned forward, savoring how cool the water felt against his skin.

"Told you it would make you feel better," he heard her say.

"Mm hmm…" He bowed his head and Seychelles ran the cloth against his neck. She was pleased, happy that she could do something to make him feel good. She was also happy that she could experience the touch of his skin. Of course, she didn't dwell on that. She didn't want to betray her strong emotions. More than anything, seeing him content is what gave her enjoyment.

"Want to get your hair wet?" she asked.

He craned his neck to turn toward her. "Won't that waste the water?"

She smirked. "Well, that's the beauty of the well. I can always get more."

He slightly frowned. "I will get the water next time."

"If you say so. Here, close your eyes."

She slowly poured the water over his head, leaving him completely drenched. It felt so wonderful.

"All done," she said.

He tossed his head, shaking some of the water out of his hair and wiped the water from his face. Then he stood and took the bucket from her hands.

"Thank you," he said quietly, smiling. He was dripping onto her face and dress, but she didn't care. With him smiling at her like that, she wouldn't have cared if it was boiling hot water dripping onto her.

"Now, tell me where the well is."

Cleo, silently watching their interaction with a smile of her own, spoke up and gave him directions herself. He thanked her and headed in the right direction, not bothering to put his shirt back on.

Cleo kept her eyes on Seychelles even after Britain had left. Seychelles brought her hands together and squeezed them, bringing them up to her face.

"If I'm not mistaken," Cleo said, "there seems to be some unspoken emotions going on between the two of you."

Seychelles started at Cleo's voice and energetically shook her head.

"No! That is… I don't think he sees me as anything more than a colony… or a little sister to look after. He would never…"

Cleo just smiled. "My child, if there is one thing I know, it's to never say never!"

Seychelles stared at her for a minute, but then frowned. "But you just said…"

"Oh never you mind about that! What I mean is that you are a fully grown woman and he's a man; a man who can probably appreciate a beautiful and kind woman when he sees one. Believe me, if he doesn't end up falling in love with you, he's a fool."

Seychelles just shook her head again. "He wouldn't be a fool. After all, we aren't like other people…"

Cleo paused in her cooking to look up at Seychelles. She knowingly sighed. "Yes, that is true…"

"People like us… I've come to realize… People like me and Arthur… don't get the same kind of luxuries as normal humans when it comes to being in love."

Seychelles lowered herself down onto the bench and stared at her hands lying in her lap. She had thought about that, among other things for the past few years that she had been away from Britain. It had really begun to sink in when she had been talking with Henri about relations with humans and fellow countries.

_"After all," he had said. "At least with normal humans, we could be with them for as long as we were able. If we fell in love with other countries, who knows how long we would be able to stay with them? Didn't France tell you that countries are always joining together as allies one day, but then breaking apart the next?"_

That was when she first realized it. Loving France… loving Britain… was it all worth it? Even if either men loved her back, who knows how long they would be able to be together? She was having a hard time being away from Britain when they weren't in a relationship. How would it feel if they were in love and had to separate?

Seychelles was beginning to feel tears well up when Britain returned with a full bucket of water.

"I'm such an idiot sometimes," he was saying pleasantly. "I'm afraid I lost my way a little on the way to the well…"

He set the bucket down by Seychelles' feet and summed up the scene in front of him. Cleo was quietly preparing her dish, but kindly looked up at him to thank him. Seychelles, however, looked upset. Again. She had her hand placed over her mouth and she stared down into her lap. He became a little concerned.

"What's the matter?" he asked quietly. He bent down and sat back on his haunches in front of her. He was surprised to see tears. She tried to look away.

"Why are you crying?"

She sniffed and jumped to her feet. "It's got nothing to do with you!" she exclaimed and dashed into the house.

Britain was again left speechless and even more confused. He was beginning to be able to count how many times she had run away from him in tears almost, and every time he hadn't done anything to hurt her.

"What is the matter with her?" he muttered angrily, standing up. "Why is she so emotional all of a sudden?"

Cleo sniffed a derisive laugh. "I think you'll figure it out soon enough." She stirred a pot of stew, chuckling to herself.

Britain sighed in exasperation and grabbed his shirt. He slid it on and looked at the woman who was still laughing quietly.

"No," he said. "I don't think I will ever figure it out. You women are all too confusing."

**...**

"Hallo, Britain!" Henri waved at both him and Seychelles as they sat on the front porch eating lunch.

"Hello, Henri. How are you this fine day?"

The young man ran up to them and eyed their food hungrily. "Oh, I'm good. Never better… I am a bit famished, though…"

"Here's your food, you little scoundrel. Come and eat it," Cleo emerged from the house, carrying a wooden bowl full of her stew. Henri accepted it gratefully, kissing the lady on her cheek. He happily sat down on the floor by his sister's feet and proceeded to gobble up the food.

"What's got you in such a hurry, brother?" Seychelles said, ruffling his hair.

"Oh. Well," Henri talked around the food in his mouth. "You shee, I wash jus' gonna as' if Bri'ain wanned t'go fishin'." He swallowed. "It's a good day for it. They're all biting."

"Go fishing?" Britain's eyes were wide. "I haven't been fishing since I was a lad!"

"You should go, then!" Seychelles exclaimed. "Even someone as out of practice as you might be able to get a bite today!"

"Very funny," he glowered at her. "Well. I don't see why not. When shall you set sail?"

Henri beamed. "Just as soon as I'm finished here!"

He wolfed down the rest of his meal and handed the bowl to Seychelles.

Britain looked over at her. "Do you need us to help you clean up?" he asked.

Cleo spoke up. "There's no need. I can take care of everything."

"I'll help you, Mama," Seychelles said. She took Britain's bowl and waved them off. "Go on you two. Go and play."

"What do you take us for? Little children?"

She winked. "You might as well be. You looked so enthralled when Henri mentioned fishing."

Britain frowned but Henri grinned unashamedly. "Come and join us when you're done, Michelle!" He waved at her as the two of them walked down the road, headed for the beach.

**...**

"I forgot how tedious fishing could be," Arthur muttered as the two of them languidly sat in a fishing canoe out on the sea. They both had wooden poles in the water and a small box of bait between them. So far, no fish had tugged on either line.

_And this is why I haven't been fishing since I was young. It takes forever…_

He heard Henri sigh. "They told me the fish were biting today. I guess we just have a bad stroke of luck…"

"Mm hmm…" Britain stared back toward the beach, his chin resting on his hand. He was beginning to feel extremely bored. Suddenly, he spotted the small form of Seychelles running up to the edge of the shore and saw her wave at them. He waved back. She held her hands up to her mouth and shouted something, but he couldn't quite make out what it was.

He raised his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. He knew he couldn't shout or make any sudden noises, or else the fish that might be nearby would scatter. Henri turned.

"What's she saying?" he asked.

"No idea," Arthur responded. "But I don't want to make any loud noises."

"Ah."

There was a small _**bloop**_and suddenly Britain felt the tiniest of tugs on his line. His eyes widened.

"Psst!" he hissed. "I might have something!"

The line began to wiggle and suddenly something began tugging on his pole.

"I've got something!" he exclaimed. Henri dropped his pole in the boat and leaned over the side. The tugging intensified as Britain tried to pull the fish out of the water.

"It's a big one!" Henri cried. "Pull, Arthur!"

"I am pullin'! Get the gaff! Quick!"

"Keep his head up! Keep his head up! Ya almost got 'im!"

"I AM keepin' his head up! Get the gaff, you fool!"

Arthur was standing in the boat, pulling with all of his might. Henri held the gaff in his hand, leaning far over so he could get a good look at the fish. It was a big one.

"Ya got 'im! Ya got 'im! Just a little more!"

"I know I've got him! Ha ha, you're mine, now you big bugger!" Britain exclaimed, grinning gleefully.

"Almost…" Henri held the gaff out so Britain could place the fish into it, but he leaned over too far and the boat began to tip. Britain could feel it and began to panic.

"Wait! Stop! Get back man, before you -"

_**Splash! **_The boat toppled over and the two men plunged into the water. Henri quickly bobbed up and stared dumbfounded as Britain was being pulled further out to sea. He was apparently still trying to win his battle against the fish, but the fish was merely swimming away still hooked to the pole that Britain kept clutched in his hands.

"Britain!"

The man's head bobbed up from the water and Henri could hear, "A little help, please!"

"Let go, man!"

He thought he heard Britain gurgle out some expletives, and saw him let go of the pole. Now he merely floated on his stomach, watching as the pole submerged under the waves.

Henri began to adjust the boat and climbed into it. He reached down for his fishing pole and their box of bait. The box had been emptied. Henri sighed in resignation and began to pull up the oars. Once he was situated, he rowed up to where Britain was still floating, staring out to sea.

"Better luck next time," he said good-naturedly. Britain looked up at him and accepted the hand that was given. He was pulled back into the boat and sat there in a blue funk.

"If it's any consolation, it really was a big fish."

"I know. I saw it."

Henri chuckled. "Well, I've lost the bait, so we should head back."

When they reached the shore, they were met by Seychelles, who was obviously trying her best not to laugh.

"Did… did you have fun?" her voice shook from repressed laughter.

Henri pursed his lips and looked at his companion. Both were soaked and they were missing a pole. Britain just gave her a deadpanned look.

"Oh we had a bloody blast," he muttered.

She giggled and stood on her tiptoes to pat him on the head. "You'll catch one next time, I'm sure."

At the sight of her smiling face close to him, he couldn't help but smile back even as his cheeks reddened.

"Yes, we'll try again some time. Won't we, Henri?"

Henri nodded, shaking the water out of his hair. "There's always time for fishing!" he answered.

The fishing really had been fun. It had been a long time since Britain had been able to just enjoy such a simple pastime as fishing without worrying about government affairs. There had been no pomp or ceremony. No judgmental eyes watching him as he acted, as many would say, out of character. He had no need to impress or flatter. These two people were like a breath of fresh air, with their carefree and hospitable attitudes.

"Thank you," he said quietly. The brother and sister stared at him, surprised. "You both have been so very kind. I was…" he sheepishly bowed his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was pretty dismal back at home. But being here… I'm surprised to say that I've been happy here. And I thank you both for that."

"Aw, it's our pleasure!" Henri happily threw his arms around Britain in a bear hug from behind.

"Ack! All right, all right! Gerroff, boy!" Britain exclaimed, roughly shoving Henri off.

"Is it just me, or do you resemble a certain Frenchman that I can't stand?" he muttered. He saw Henri laughing and turned to say something to Seychelles. She wasn't laughing. She wasn't even smiling. She was just staring out to the ocean. The look on her face was unreadable.

She quickly turned to them and forced a smile. "Well, you two want to head back so we can get ready for supper? The walk will dry you off, I'm sure."

Henri acquiesced and she took his hand, not even looking at Arthur once. He ended up walking on the other side of Henri and the three of them headed back to the house.

"Why don't you live in the main town?" he asked Michelle as they sat around her fireplace. It was evening now and a light, cooling rain was falling. They could hear it pattering against the roof. It gave a certain ambience to the scene; a feeling of peace. It was different than the rains that fell in London. Those rains came down in torrents, mixing with the fog and making everything dark and dismal. The rain here was pleasant, cooling off the atmosphere from the daily heat.

Michelle stared down into her cup of wine and thought about the question.

"I suppose I didn't want to live in an area that was always busy. Living out here just feels more peaceful. And I'm closer to the jungle."

She looked up at Britain. "It's like you with your country house. It's more peaceful like this."

He nodded. "I can understand that."

"Plus I have Mama Cleo and her family close by. They are like my own family, and it would pain me to have to leave them."

"You are very fortunate."

She smiled. "I suppose so, though I like to see it as being blessed."

There was silence for a few minutes until she began to speak again.

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

"If… I mean… You…" She sighed, exasperated with herself. Why couldn't she come out and say what was on her mind? Was it that hard to tell someone how they felt about them? She had told France a couple of times.

"What are you trying to tell me?"

She was afraid he would reject her. That was what it was. France had, albeit kindly, rejected her before. And this wasn't France she was dealing with. Britain wasn't exactly known for being sympathetic all the time.

"I just wanted to say," she finally spoke. "That I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

_No it wasn't. You're not telling me something…_ "Thank you."

She smiled. "Well. I'm a little tired. I think I shall head for bed now."

"Good night then."

She rose and briefly laid her hand upon his. Then she drew it away before he could return the touch and briskly walked into the inner room. The door closed and Britain was left alone to stare into the fire. The rain continued to pitter patter outside.

* * *

It had been almost a month since Britain had decided to stay with Seychelles and her brother. In that past month, he had experienced some of the most peaceful and pleasant days he had spent in a long while. The days were filled with leisurely pastimes such as fishing or swimming, along with helping the men care for their coconut trees. The evenings were just as enjoyable, sitting around a fire or going into town to pass the evening drinking and enjoying the company of the locals, while listening to music.

Britain found himself sitting away from these festivities one evening, just relaxing on a rock overlooking the ocean below him. The setting sun filled the sky with lovely pinks, purples and oranges. Soon the lamps would be lit and the dancing would begin. The tide was coming in and Arthur could see the calm waves lazily wash upon the shore. It was beautiful, as always, but amidst all this beauty, he felt melancholy.

If someone had asked him why he was feeling this way, however, he wouldn't have been able to give them an answer. It didn't make much sense. He should be happy. Had he not said so back when he had gone fishing with Henri the first time? He should be lounging in a chair back with the local people, sipping some wine and enjoying the ladies as they danced. He was away from the wintry weather back at home. He was glad to be here. The people were friendly, the food was amazing, and everything was perfect.

Except for one thing: Seychelles. Ever since his arrival here, she had been acting differently. She was not the same when she had been at his home. She seemed more self-conscious than normal and not as forward as she usually was. She seemed almost hesitant to talk to him, especially when he teased her. She was acting like a shy little girl. That was not like her.

Everything had seemed all right when they had exchanged letters, but now that they were together again, things had gotten awkward. It saddened Britain. He hadn't wanted Seychelles to feel uncomfortable around him. He only wanted to see that she was doing well. He thought his concern for her would make her happy. It seemed he was wrong.

An alarming thought passed through his mind. What if she was acting strange toward him because she was beginning to dislike him? Was she beginning to avoid him because she resented him for being his colony, like America had done? The idea honestly scared him. He didn't want Seychelles to hate him.

_I haven't done anything. I'm just imagining things._

_ But she has been acting more reserved than usual toward me… I must have done something… what, though? _

_ It doesn't matter. Why should I care?_

_ Because I don't know if I could stand having her hate me… _

_ I should figure out what I may have done… I should go and talk to her. And if she won't tell me, I'll… I'll figure out something…_

Such warring thoughts were swimming around in his head as he sat there, oblivious to the world around him.

"What are you doing over here by yourself?"

He jumped a little at the sound of a familiar voice behind him.

"Oh nothing much. Just thinking."

Seychelles sat down on the rug next to him, crossing her legs Indian-fashion. She modestly tucked her skirt under her legs.

"Thinking about what?"

_You. _"Just about … things. The sunset."

She looked up at the sky and Britain took the time to study her. She wore her hair down and was wearing a white shirt with a colorful skirt.

"Look at the colors," she murmured. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"Several times," Britain snorted. The realization that he had been silently appraising the lady next to him left him embarrassed and therefore, grumpy.

"You've seen one; you've seen 'em all."

She stared at him, irritated.

"You don't always have to be so impossible, you know."

"Impossible? I'm not being impossible!" he exclaimed. His back straightened and he looked down at her stiffly. "You're the one being impossible!"

"How am _I_ being impossible? All I did was comment on how pretty the sunset was!"

"Well, you're always impossible. It's the French in you."

"So help me, Britain! I don't know why I even bothered to come over here!"

"Well, you can get up and leave whenever you want to."

She huffed and made other angry, exasperated sounds as he continued to stare up at the sky. He didn't really want her to leave. In fact, he had been secretly elated when she had sat down next to him. It was just that these roller coaster feelings he had for her were leaving him confused and frustrated. It scared him, but he knew that this woman was becoming someone precious to him. He knew it as the fear of her hating him passed through his mind. This realization left him uneasy.

Oh sure, he had previous affairs in the past. He could remember a time when he was on very friendly terms with France's sister. He and Belgium also had been through an on-and-off-again relationship in the previous years, and Portugal had always claimed that he was someone very special to her. Even so, these relationships had always been more of a necessity than a desire to him. He had to have allies, didn't he? Besides, Marianne (France's sister) would use him to her advantage and Belgium's affections had begun to decline as her desire for independence grew. Portugal, as well, always was in some different relationship every few years. Yes, even though he was no stranger to romance, those past whirlwind relationships really had meant nothing to him.

This though, this specific relationship, these feelings… It was all deeper than he had ever experienced and felt before, and this wasn't even a relationship of the romantic kind. Could that mean…?

Meanwhile, as Britain underwent that internal struggle, Seychelles was still fuming. She finally raised her hands and tossed her head in resignation.

"I give up. I don't even know what it is about you that made me fall in love with you in the first place! I -"

She froze. Britain felt his stomach drop and he slowly turned to look at her. If she had wanted to render him speechless, she had done a good job of it. Looking at her, though, he could see that she hadn't meant to say anything at all. Her eyes were as wide as saucers and he could see a blush slowly creep into her cheeks.

He took a breath before saying, "What?"

Suddenly, she became fidgety, the sign he had come to realize that meant she was uncomfortable. She fussed with her hair, picked at her skirt, and wouldn't look him straight in the eye.

"What did you just say?" he asked again. His voice was barely above a whisper.

She continued to avoid his intense stare and he could see in the fading light her throat muscles contracting.

Finally she answered, "I didn't say anything." Her voice shook.

"Yes you did. I distinctly heard you say something about being in -"

"I didn't say anything, all right?" she exclaimed frantically. She quickly leapt to her feet, mortified.

_I can't believe I actually said that! What was I thinking? I need to get out of here before I embarrass myself further!_

She was ready to run and run away _fast,_ but there was something clutching her skirt. Unless she wanted to be seen half naked running for home, she had no choice but to remain there and take the mockery and rejection she feared would come. Heart pounding, she turned to look at what was holding her back from dashing back to her house to hide under her covers, to see that it was Britain himself who was clutching her skirts with one hand. He quickly tugged on the skirt which forced her tumbling back down on the rock, sitting closer to him than before. Then he took hold of her arm.

"You love me?"

She darted a quick glance his way, but quickly averted her gaze back to the ocean.

"Just forget it."

"You know I can't do that."

"Look, I didn't know what I was saying!" she cried desperately. "I was angry and ran my mouth. You know how that is!"

He said nothing. He just stared intently into her eyes.

"Anyway, why would I be in love with someone like you?"

England felt his heart beat faster. He scooted in closer to her.

"Michelle."

"You're rude, obstinate, changeable… I never know what it is you're thinking!"

Her eyes met him and she tried to glare at him.

"You get angry at the slightest thing. You're prejudiced…"

His hand traveled up her arm and rested against her neck. His thumb caressed the soft skin of her throat and he could feel her pulse beat in rhythm to his own.

"You curse a lot, you have bad teeth…"

Her voice dropped to a murmur as her face inched closer to his. Every time he touched her throat and face, her heart raced.

"Your food is terribly bland; you have no sense of cuisine…"

He could see the slightest details of her lovely face now, but what really held his attention were her tantalizing lips…

"And your eyebrows are too big for your face…"

She could feel his breath on her face and saw him smile in the dim light.

"Are you finished?" he asked.

Her throat suddenly felt extremely dry and she absently ran her tongue over her lips before nervously biting them, inadvertently tempting Britain further.

"For now," she whispered.

"Good." His mouth covered hers.

It was the second time that a man had kissed her like this, but this time Seychelles felt something stir within, starting at the pit of her stomach, and traveling up her back to the tips of her fingers and the roots of her hair. Chills ran through her as well, and she felt powerless to do anything but savor this man's kiss and the feeling of his fingers in her hair. But that only lasted for a short while until she realized that she could kiss him back. And did she ever want to kiss him back. All of her pent up emotions of longing came crashing out as she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him closer, deepening the kiss.

They could hear each other breathing heavily through their nose, and Britain decided to pull away for a short breath. In doing so, he stared at her and saw such a longing that he hadn't expected to see in those eyes. It was enough to send his head spinning. Their faces remained close enough so that their noses brushed every so often and Seychelles smiled, reaching up to touch his face.

"Are you all right?"

Looking at her, he realized that he had enjoyed that kiss very much. He was beginning to want more.

"I'm fine," he murmured. "Just fine."

He leaned in for another kiss, and this time she quickly returned it. Britain wrapped his arms around her, causing her to practically sit in his lap and she rested her arms against his shoulders, running her fingers through his hair. He could almost feel every inch and curve of her body and found that she was incredibly soft. He could taste her: a sweet mixture of coconut and fruit blended with the tartness of salt and the spice of cinnamon. It was a heady experience.

It was Seychelles who broke from the kiss this time and he repressed a groan. She no longer sat in his lap, but leaned in to rest her forehead against his. He closed his eyes to savor the lingering sensations of this woman, the way she felt in his arms, the way she tasted…

He felt her hands take his and he opened his eyes to look into hers. There was such devotion, such love there. On her lips was a small smile that signified real happiness. It almost broke his heart. He had done nothing to deserve any of this.

"Arthur," she whispered.

"Yes?"

She hesitated for a minute, but she had to ask. She would not be at peace until she asked him.

"Do… do you love… me?"

Something inside of him froze. He opened his mouth to answer but no words came out.

_Love? _It was such a dangerous word to just flippantly throw around. And the feeling of love was so delicate. It could be there one moment, but gone the next. Right?

Did he love her? He harbored affections for her, yes. But was he willing to throw it all on the altar and confess that he was in love? On one hand, he would have said yes easily. At least, he had enjoyed the kiss they had just shared. But that wasn't exactly love. That was affection. Love was something deeper, wasn't it? He looked away and stared down at the rug beneath them while thinking these things. Could he say that he loved her?

"I… I don't know, Seychelles…"

He could feel her move away from him. He didn't have to see. Her warm presence had left and he turned to see her watching him with sad eyes. Tears threatened to come so she turned away to look at the sky again.

"I understand," she said.

'Michelle…"

"I'm sorry I asked you. It was too forward of me… After all, we're different, right?"

It pained him to see her look at him with those big eyes filled with tears that wouldn't fall.

"As countries, we shouldn't allow ourselves to fall in love. Too much pain, right?"

He hadn't thought about it that way, but it did make sense.

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

She nodded and sniffed. Then she excused herself and left.

And Britain continued to stare up at the darkened sky, feeling more melancholy than ever.

Seychelles ran home, unwilling to let her tears fall until she collapsed into her bed. Then and only then, did she let herself give in to heartache. Having him tell her that he didn't know if he loved her somehow hurt just as if he had outright rejected her or laughed at her. It was because his kiss had felt so wonderful and it was obvious that he had enjoyed it as much as she did that left her feeling wretched. Maybe if he left soon and was away from her she would feel better. But no, that would just hurt her even more. What she wanted more than anything was for him to reciprocate her affections. Then, even if he did have to leave, she would still have the memories of their love to keep her company.

She buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

**...**

Britain left shortly thereafter. Their parting was solemn, with her trying not to show how heartbroken she really was and with him trying to deal with warring emotions of wanting to comfort her and wrap his arms around her without being able to assure her of any promise of love. As Henri bade him goodbye, Seychelles just silently watched him as he boarded his ship.

As the ship sailed away, Henri turned to look at his sister in concern.

"Will you ever tell me what happened between you two to make you not want to talk to each other?"

She just rested her head against his shoulder.

"Soon. I'll tell you about it soon."

And with that, she turned and walked away without looking back once at the man who kept his eyes on her until she was a tiny speck on the receding beach.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Um.. Hey guys! I know my updates seem to take forever... I just get the worse cases of writer's block, man!

Anyway, I want to thank those of you who have stuck with the story so far. You guys are what keeps me from succumbing to that awful writer's block in the first place! :3

So, allow me to explain some things. First off, I began to do some thinking and I realized that if I was to incorporate Nyotalia's Britain, I should incorporate Nyotalia's Seychelles, which led to me throwing Henri in here. I dunno, I think Henri's a cute French name. And since there are actually several islands that make up the Seychelles, I figured I could get away with the two Seychelles characters not meeting when they were young by putting him on one of the smaller islands with Michelle staying on the main island Mahe.

Also, about the brother and sister offering their home to Arthur; I've read that the Seychellois people are known not only for their carefree nature, but also for their kind hospitality, so I figured I could incorporate that here. I hope I didn't seem too barbaric in portraying Michelle the way I did with her wanting to "wash" Arthur. Like I said, I'm incorporating the hospitality of the people. Plus I thought that it would be cute. Wasn't trying to make women seem like their only purpose is to serve their men. I don't think that. Though that was kind of the mentality at that time... Oh well. :D

How did the kiss work? It was my first time really writing two people snogging like that. I hope it wasn't too cheesy, lol. XDD Thanks for reading! :3


	9. Chapter 8: 1862

Chapter 8

1862

"_She better liked to see him free and happy, even than to have him near her, because she loved him better than herself."_

_Hmm… How is it that Dickens is always able to make characters that reflect people I know?_

"Britain…"

_It's as if he knows what I'm personally going through…_

"Hsst! _Angleterre!"_

_ That's absurd of course. Even so… That line…_

"Would you please _pay attention!" _

"_**Oof!**__"_

France had elbowed him in the gut, forcing a rather audible grunt from Britain.

"Shut it!" France hissed. "Everyone's staring at you."

Wincing, Britain looked up and saw that, indeed, all of the individual official country representatives that had gathered together for a world conference were looking at him inquisitively.

"Erm… I beg your pardon…" He inclined his head apologetically towards everyone. "What were we talking about?" He discreetly tucked his pocket-sized volume of _Barnaby Rudge _into his coat pocket.

Austria, who had been chosen as the chairman for the meeting, merely closed his eyes and sighed.

"Nothing worth missing the latest installment of whatever it is you are reading, according to you, Sir."

"I do apologize. Pray, do continue."

"I fully intend to, Britain. Now, as to what we had just discussed…"

"Is anything the matter, Kirkland?" France leaned in next to Arthur. "You usually never seem to be distracted when it comes to these meetings," he whispered.

He shrugged and waved the man's questions away. Now was not the time to discuss such things.

**…**

"In all earnest, man. What is troubling you?"

Britain had decided to take his lunch break in a café around the corner from the building where their meeting was held, and much to his chagrin, France had joined him.

"Nothing! I merely wanted to catch up on my reading, and I was not interested i the world affairs today."

"Is that so?"

"Humph," Britain snorted. "Why do you care anyway?"

"It's just some friendly concern, is all," France shrugged.

"Since when did we become friends?"

"Oh for the love of … Would you stop acting like that? To see the way you're behaving, I'd think you were a mere child, not the Great Empire you nclaim to be."

Instead of throwing out a retort, Britain merely munched on his food and glared at his lunch companion.

"What were you reading? May I at least ask that?"

Arthur took a moment to swallow and dabbed his mouth with his napkin before answering.

"It was _Barnaby Rudge _by Charles Dickens."

"Dickens, eh? Is it any good?"

"I don't particularly think it's one of his best, but I am enjoying it."

It became quiet and an awkward mood fell upon the two of them. Though they were not warring, that did not mean that they were close friends or anything. Plus, even though Arthur did not want it to show, he really did have a lot on his mind.

"If I may be so bold as to ask…"

"What?"

"How… how is she?"

Arthur averted his gaze to the street where he saw people walking to and fro, as well as horse-drawn carriages passing by. Honestly, the one person he was trying not to think about, France just had to go and mention her. He had even brought the Dickens' novel to read so his mind wouldn't wander during the meeting and think about her. It seems that neither Dickens nor France would allow him to forget.

"Do you know if she is well? I mean… I haven't exactly tried to contact her… That is…" Francis chuckled and sheepishly bowed his head.

"Sometimes I really am a terrible person_. N'est-ce pas? _I'm sure she wouldn't want to talk to me after what I did… But I do want to know, is she doing well?"

A sigh came from the man across from him. "No," Arthur said. "I don't think that is true. You know how she is. I'm sure she has forgiven you. As for being a terrible person… well, that is true, but I'm as terrible as you are, if not more."

Francis narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

"More like what did I not do?" he muttered.

France's voice got dangerously low. "I swear, Kirkland, if you have hurt her…"

"Oh don't fret, I didn't hurt her. I'm sure she is quite healthy, and she has her twin to care for her."

"Ah yes, Henri. He's a good lad. But listen, Kirkland, has something happened? _Did_ you do something to Michelle?"

"No. She… That is… Look I don't want to talk about it. She's doing fine; let's just leave it at that."

Britain had finished his lunch and left without saying another word.

* * *

She was everywhere. No matter where he went, he would be haunted by the illusion of her petite, almost elfin-like form dancing out of the corner of his eye. When he was roaming the streets of London, there were moments when he could have sworn he saw her face. It usually turned out to be some sort of gypsy or woman with the same colored hair as hers, however. Even when he was home alone, his mind would play tricks on him, imagining that he could hear her laughter echoing down the halls.

He definitely found no solace in his home in the country now. Every room, every piece of furniture, every path trailing from the house outside made him think of her. He thought of the moments they shared in that house. He walked through the forest beyond and imagined her chasing after that blasted fox as if she really was there. He could still vividly see her stare up at him wide-eyed as he helped her out of that precarious situation of the fallen-in earth. The song he sang to her whispered to him as the wind blew through the trees,

_I played with the young, dark-haired girl_

_When I woke in the morning…_

His house in the city was not much better. It couldn't be helped. Anywhere and everywhere he went, she was branded in his mind; the soft, smoothness of her skin, the smell of tropical flowers and sea air, and the taste of fruit, cinnamon and coconut… it was all so ethereal. Wasn't time supposed to help him in this situation? It had been years since he had last seen the Seychellois woman. She had never affected his mental state like this before when they had parted. He usually was able to avert his mind to other tasks and hobbies that would distract him. He had never thought of this girl so frequently before as he was doing now.

That kiss. It had to have been that kiss they shared that was messing up his mental facilities. But why? He had kissed other women in the past. Those lingered with him for a while but he would be able to forget them sooner or later… that is, unless another kiss followed soon after, which sometimes did, among other things… But now? There had just been one kiss, and nothing following after. Of course, when he thought about the kiss, that would lead him to thinking about what _could _have followed after, and that lead to very uncomfortable territory. But then he would usually drag his mind away from that and go back to the question, _Why?_

There was no doubt that he liked what he saw when it came to Michelle. He did always prefer women with darker complexions (chock that up to his pirate days in the Caribbean and the Orient). He also liked her spunk, her vivacity, her tenacity and her carefree attitude. It was all so very refreshing. She was always smiling, always trying to see the good side of things. He could remember the few times she did cry, and he didn't like when that happened. Then there were those moments when he saw her caring for her people, and the way she looked when she told him they had found a way to feed the people after years of stagnation. Her happiness had delighted him. _He_ had been happy.

The more he thought about all of those things, the more he began to feel confused and lost. A peculiar sort of melancholy hovered over him in those next following weeks. He didn't want to see anybody, he didn't go out and he took to reading mounds upon mounds of flowery as well as morbid poetry. After all, he had plenty of resources: Shakespeare, Byron, Keats, Donne, Lovelace, Browning…. Plenty of hours were spent in solitude reading about she who "walks in beauty like the night…" and about the man who went to war, saying "I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honor more…" And how about all of the sonnets the wonderful Bard gave to him to mull and brood over?

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no! It is an ever-fixed mark__  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks__  
Within his bending sickle's compass come:__  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,__  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved._

This particular sonnet, he could remember, left him with an overwhelming sensation. "Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom?"

_Could it be possible that I am…?_ If there was one thing that all this poetry did do for his benefit, it could be said that it made him think about a few things.

His contemporaries would sneer at his dark mood, and tell him to "Buck up!" or say, "Cheer up, old fellow!" Alice herself had found him in this state and was understandably quite concerned with his behavior. Her usually level-headed brother would not be sitting by the hearth reading silly sonnets until late in the night with close-to-no food or drink unless something was terribly wrong. But she knew that she would have to get some special assistance to make the tight-lipped Brit tell all.

**…**

"So tell me. Why are we here again?"

Alan Kirkland glared at his brothers. "I told you! We're here to make sure Arthur's doing well."

Angus Kirkland grunted and took a substantial swig from a half-empty beer bottle. "Ah. An' why is it that _we _have t'be the ones t'see if he's all right?"

Alan sighed. "Like I've said, because Alice had to go away for a couple of weeks and she thought we could convince him to tell us what's troubling him, or something." _Right. I really don't know why she wanted us to be the ones to do this…_

"Aw fer cryin' out loud! He's a grown man! What do we care if he's a wee bit down? *hic!*"

Alan glared at his Irish brother. "You know, you shouldn't talk. You've had a grudge against Arthur for a while now."

Aidan, who was obviously looking a bit tipsy, jabbed his finger in Alan's face. "An' why shouldn't I be? D'ye know how the English treat me people?"

"You know Arthur can't do much about that."

"A'course he can't!" Angus butted in. "He's too busy moonin' about 'n'wallerin' in this deep depression! Ha!" The burly man guffawed and slapped Aidan on the back.

"Hey! Watch it, now! Ye almost made me drop th'bottle!"

"Sorry, lad."

Alan made an exasperated huff. "Why do I put up with you two?"

He knocked on the door and the servant showed them in. The three quickly made themselves at home, heading for the kitchen to fill their empty stomachs, while waiting for Arthur to be told of their arrival.

"Y'know wot I think it is?" Angus said after snacking on a seed cake.

"What?"

"It's tha' girl. Y'know, th'girl we met all those years agoo."

Alan's eyes widened. "Think so?"

"It's gotta be."

"A'course i'tis!" Aidan exclaimed, now beyond tipsy to just full out drunk. A few bottles were lying on the table around him and Angus.

"Ye ever see th'man get so blasted worked up about annathing else? Not even when Amer'ca wuz leavin' wuz he so dis..dis..distraught!"

Alan and Angus, only a little buzzed, hummed in agreement.

"You're probably right, Aidan."

"Course I am! Th'man's been pinin' fer the lass, for Lord knows how long, saints preserve him!" He threw back his head, downed another mouthful and began to sing.

_It was there that I learned all me courtin'  
Many lessons I took in the art  
Till Cupid, the blackguard, while sportin'  
An arrow drove straight through me  
Mush, mush, mush, tural-i-addy  
Me mush, mush, mush, tural-i-ay_

_So I lathered him with me shillelagh  
Oh! For he trod on the tail of me  
Mush, mush, mush, tural-i-addy!  
And just like the Dingle for gold,  
I lathered him with me shillelagh  
Oh! For he trod on the tail of me coat!_

"What in the name of all that is good and holy…?"

Angus smacked Aidan upside the head, causing the man to quit singing, as he was too busy tumbling out of his chair. Alan stood quickly and gave his brother a big grin.

"Arthur!"

Aidan stumbled to his feet and staggered over to his brother. "Me dearest brother!" He threw himself onto Arthur in a big hug.

"How are ye lad?"

"Ugh! Aidan… you're… All right, get off!" He shoved the man off of him as Alan came over to lay a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Honestly, how have you been, Arthur? You don't look like yourself."

"Uh, well, you see…"

"Have you been sleeping?"

"Of course I have!"

"Your hair looks more disheveled than normal."

"Well…"

"Ach! An' look a'those dark circles roun' his eyes! It doesn't look like you've been sleepin'! You're not sufferin' from insomnia are ya?" Angus rose to get a better look at his brother's face. Yes, even though the four of them had past wrongs that left them fighting at times, they all still were brothers. There was a familial love that they shared which caused them to worry if one of them was unwell.

"No… I don't believe so."

Aidan laughed. "I told ye, lads! 'Tis the arrow of love tha's hit 'im!"

Arthur froze. "What?"

"Well, we were suspecting so, Aidan, but…"

The Briton stared at all three of them back and forth. "How did you find out?"

It was quiet. Alan and Angus just stared back at him, stunned. Suddenly, Angus burst out laughing.

"What? So it's true?" he exclaimed, slapping Arthur on the back. Arthur stumbled forward. "Good on ya, lad! Ha, ha! Artie's finally caught the love of some poor lass!" He paused for a minute and looked at Arthur. "It is a lass, right? I mean…"

"Of course it is, you idiot!" Arthur shouted. Pink covered his pale cheeks for the first time in many a week.

"And let me guess who it is," Alan smirked. "Could it perhaps be a certain dark haired maiden with golden eyes who lives on a remote island?"

The pink spread to his ears. "Perhaps," he muttered.

Alan laughed this time. "Well, I am happy for you, brother! Though I must say that it took you long enough to realize your feelings, while the rest of us could read them plainly."

"Yes, I am sure you are taking such pride in that," the poor man muttered. This was intolerable.

"Is this why you three are here, to gloat at my foolish behavior?"

"It's not foolish!" Angus exclaimed good-naturedly.

"Well, perhaps it is," Alan grinned, "but we were concerned about you when Alice told us you weren't faring well. That is why we came."

Arthur was actually taken aback. "Well… Thank you, fellows. I… I do appreciate it."

"Don' mention it!" Aidan called from the table, pouring himself another glass. The bottle's contents spilled over onto the table more than what went into the glass. "So! When's the weddin'?" he asked cheekily.

"Wedding?" Arthur cried.

"Aye! Y'know I'll hafta sing in it!" the Irishman raised the bottle. "Ah've got just the song!" He tilted his head back and erupted into a jolly tune.

_Oh, as I went out one mornin',  
It being the month of May  
A farmer and his daughter  
I spied upon me way._

_And the girl sat down quite calmly  
to the milkin' of her cow  
Sayin' I will an' I must get married,  
for the humour is on me now._

_Oh, the humour is on me now,  
Oh, the humour is on me now  
Sayin' I will an' I must get married,  
for the humour is on me now!_

He began to laugh halfway through the song, and toppled off of his chair again before he was able to finish singing. Sprawled out on the floor, he continued to laugh.

"There he goes, wasting my good brew," Arthur groaned. "What was it about God giving the Irish liquor?"

"It was so they wouldn't take over the world," Alan chuckled.

"Right," Arthur rolled his eyes. "And whatever you said about a wedding, you can just forget that!" he shouted to the fallen Irishman.

"Aw! Why?"

"Because!" Arthur sputtered. "I… I don't even know… I mean… I'm so much older than her, and we live so far apart from one another…"

"So?" Angus said. "Ye goin t'let such triflin' matters stop ye? What happened t'ye, lad? I seem t'recall when ye were a brash, darin' sailor who never balked at any obstacle!"

"Yes, but…"

"Are you afraid that she won't accept you?"

"No. I am quite confident of her affections for me."

"Than what's stopping you?" Alan queried. "She _does_ know how you feel about her, right?"

There was a pause. Alan, Angus and even Aidan in a bit of a drunken stupor, waited for an answer.

"No…" he finally said.

Another pause. Then Aidan, who had actually gone and stood beside Angus, began roaring with laughter and leaned against his brother for support.

"_What?_" The other two shouted.

"D'ye mean t'tell us that you're sittin' here wallowin' in this self-pity or whatever ya wanna call it, and the lass is back at her home not knowin' how you really feel about her?" Angus looked over at Aidan. "Is this what Ah'm hearin'?"

"'Tis indeed!" he giggled gleefully.

"You're a damned fool, Arthur," Alan shook his head.

Arthur remained quiet. He didn't shout or defend himself. He just sat himself down at the kitchen table and stared down. The three brothers watched him, surprised at how quiet he was.

"I know." he muttered. "I am quite the fool."

Alan and Angus shared sympathetic looks and they sat down next to their brother. None of them said a word, but as Angus reached out to pour himself another drink, Arthur snatched the bottle and began downing it like there was no tomorrow.

**…**

"I'm tellin ya boys… I just… I'm a bloody imbecile."

"Heh," Angus chuckled. "We all know tha."

"I mean... what'm'I doin' with my life?" Arthur raised his head from the table and looked at Alan. Aidan, having already been drunk when they arrived, had passed out and was sleeping under the table. Angus, a bit tipsy, was sniggering at Arthur who was getting more and more intoxicated with each swig he took. He never could hold his liquor well. Alan, who had drunk the least, was sitting on Arthur's left, amusedly observing the scene before him.

"Here I am the one who represents the great British Empire, unified under Her Royal Majesty… God save the Queen!" he choked out, raising his bottle.

"Yes, yes…" Alan rolled his eyes. He had forgotten how talkative Arthur got when drunk.

"And I can't even tell a woman that I'm bloody in love with her!" He hiccupped. "And man, if you could see this woman…" He chuckled.

"Aye, I bet she's a bonnie lass," Angus grinned, humoring his brother.

"A beauty. An exotic beauty, Angus. She's got these eyes that just sparkle, and long, black hair, and you should see how her face brightens when she laughs…"

Arthur heaved a very whimsical, not-so-Arthur-like sigh.

"So why don't you tell her that?" Alan queried.

His brother flung his head back and laughed. "As if I would!" He exclaimed, leaning against Angus. He took another gulp of beer.

"I mean, coul' you see _me, _Arthur Kirkland, goin' up to a beautiful woman like that and tellin' her that her eyes sparkle? Heh…" His voice began to slur.

"I'm sure you've done it before."

"Aye, and a lot o'other things as well." Angus winked.

"This's dif'rent," Arthur chuckled. "I'm a _gen'l'man _now. Though… though," he stuck his finger in Angus' face. "You know, there's a _lot _o'things I coul' say about her… but it wouldn't be … _proper. _If ya get my meanin'." He snickered.

"All right, on that note, I think we should take you fine lads off to bed now," Alan exclaimed. "The last thing we need is to hear all of your personal fantasies, brother."

"Aw, I was'n gonna say annathin'!" Arthur cried as Angus wrapped his brother's arm around his neck. "Where're we goin'? Y'know I'm perf'ctly capable of gettin' to my room m'self."

"Aye, ah know, lad. Ah jus' wanna help you," Angus said, despite all of his brother's objections.

Arthur moaned and hung his head as the two of them headed up the stairs.

"What'm I gonna do, Angus?"

"I say, if'n ya love the lass, y'should go an' see her."

"Y'know, I've got a brilliant idea!"

Angus smiled. "An' wot is tha?"

"I should just bloody go an' see her! Tell her how I feel!" He leaned his head back and shouted, "BRILLIANT!"

"Whoa! Artie! Coom back t'Earth before ya make us break our necks, lad!"

Angus did his utmost to try and balance himself as Arthur continued to lean back. Several times the two of them almost tumbled down the steps, but fortunately, Angus was bigger than his brother, so he was able to finally make it to the top (with a bit of difficulty, I must admit).

Angus deposited him into his bedroom and left. Without changing clothes or even drawing back the covers, Arthur tumbled into his bed and fell fast asleep.

**…**

The weather was not kind to our Mr. Kirkland. He awoke the next day with the bright morning sun shining smack down on his face. The minute he opened his eyes to the light, his head began pounding.

"Urrrghhh…" The pillow did its job in hiding the evil sunlight, but the pounding grew worse whenever he moved his head. There was nothing for it. He was awake, and he'd have to cope with this splitting headache.

He sat up and blearily stared at his room. There was a nasty taste in his mouth and his clothing was rumpled. The servant had set out the washbasin and pitcher filled with fresh water, and washing his face did help somewhat in relieving him of his discomfort. The headache was still there, though.

The servant (whose name was Davies) knocked, causing his headache to worsen and he croaked out a "Come in." The man brought him his morning tea. He thanked Davies and the fellow quickly left. He had served Arthur long enough to know when the man would not be in the mood for chatting.

The tea helped rid Arthur of the terrible taste in his mouth and he felt somewhat rejuvenated. He changed into a fresh pair of clothes, finished his tea, and headed downstairs to breakfast. As he expected, his brothers were in the dining room eating already.

"Where's Aidan?" he asked as he sat down.

"Still sleeping, I imagine," Alan answered.

"Aye. He had the most t'drink last night." Angus began buttering a scone. He bit into it and winced a little.

"Y'got any jam?" he asked.

Arthur shrugged. "I suppose so. What do you need it for?"

"Well… th'scones are…a little bland."

Arthur bit into one. "Tastes fine to me."

"Why am I not surprised?" Angus muttered. Alan snickered.

"All right, if you don't like the scones, then don't eat 'em! How about that?" Arthur snapped. This was not a good morning for trifling matters such as commenting on his food.

"You always were sensitive about your scones, Artie," Angus smirked.

"You do know our mum made the recipe, don't you?"

"Ah never liked her cookin' much."

"I don't need to deal with this, not this morning!"

And with that, Arthur picked up the newspaper Davies had set on the table beside him and he shook it open with a **s**_**nap! **_

The room got quiet and Alan and Angus shared amused looks.

"Say, Arthur," Alan hummed.

_"What?"_

"I have a question to put to you."

"Well, spit it out."

"When exactly were you planning on going to those islands to visit a certain someone, hmm?"

The newspaper lowered.

"I mean, since you are an imbecile, and you haven't told her how you _truly _feel about her yet, I would think you'd be packing your bags and buying the first ticket out there right about now."

They heard a faint _"Bugger!" _and the next thing they knew, the newspaper was lying atop Arthur's plate, and Arthur himself was out of the room calling for his manservant.

* * *

"Davies, I have a proposition to put to you."

Arthur's manservant, a tall orderly fellow whose full name was George Arnold Davies, stood at full attention watching his employer quickly scrawling out a note at his writing desk in the study.

"Yes sir?"

"I am going away for a while, and I will be in need of a sort of companion."

"I see, sir."

"I know this is rather personal of me to ask, but do you have any family to speak of?"

The man blinked before answering, "No, sir. Except a nephew who is grown up. But he serves in the army stationed in India. I rarely see him. We only correspond by letters."

"And that is all?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"Well, I wanted to be sure, because in all honesty, I wanted to take you with me when I go away. And I shall be away for quite some time. I didn't want to ask you to accompany me until I was fully aware that you had no family who would miss you."

Davis smiled to himself. His employer had always been thoughtful like that.

"You will have all the comforts you will need, and if you needed to come back here or if I no longer required your services, I can assure you, you would be given enough money and resources to support yourself."

"I appreciate your concern, sir, but I have no objections to coming with you."

"Excellent. And Mrs. Briggs will be coming to, if she is able. I am writing to her now to request her assistance. Will you be so good as to send this to the post?"

Arthur quickly signed, folded and sealed the letter and handed it to Davies.

"Very good, sir," the man acquiesced. With the letter in hand, he took his leave. Before leaving the room, however, he turned back to Arthur.

"Beg your pardon, sir, but may I ask where we'll be going? I would like to know so I can pack accordingly."

He saw a small, but pleasant smile come upon Arthur's face.

"We're going to the Seychelles islands, Davies."

**…**

"Now, be sure to direct all my mail to this address."

Alice Kirkland heaved a sigh and nodded for the thousandth time.

"Yes, Arthur."

"You are sure the furniture has been forwarded to the right place?"

She glared at her brother and he immediately shut his mouth. Behind the two of them, standing at the harbor, Mrs. Briggs stood beside Davies chatting excitably.

"Can you believe this? We're actually going to be traveling! Never in my life did I imagine that I would leave England and set sail on the high seas! My! It almost makes me dizzy just to think about it! Well, aren't you excited, Mr. Davies?"

The manservant, being the stolid fellow that he was, did manage to give the lady a small smile.

"Oh yes, I am sure this will be quite the adventure."

"I should say so!" The lady fluttered. "Oh heavens, I do hope I do not get seasick! I have heard these boats … oh! Should I say ships? I have heard that they do toss about!"

"I am sure that this will be a peaceful voyage, Madam. You needn't worry."

Arthur removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Alice could tell he was apprehensive.

"I really don't know why I am doing this."

She smiled. "Because you found love, Arthur. It's as simple as that."

"But what if I am too late? What if she doesn't accept me?"

"She will."

"How do you know?" he demanded.

"Because I know when a fellow woman is in love. And she is."

Arthur didn't look very comforted. Seeing that he was still anxious, she reached out at gently brushed the hair away from his eyes.

"Don't be afraid, Arthur. 'Faint heart never won fair lady,' after all."

He smiled. "Will you be all right while I am gone?"

"Of course I will. Though I am sure I shall receive visits from our brothers more often."

Arthur nodded. He could remember when he had told the three that he was leaving:

"_For how long?" Alan asked, looking quite happy._

"_I am not sure. As long as the country doesn't need me."_

"_Ya made it, Artie! Tha's love!" Angus crowed. He smacked Arthur on the back._

"_Thanks…" Arthur groused out._

"_Well, tell the lassie we said 'ello."_

"_An' that she's a right pretty ting t'be puttin' up wit'ya," Aidan smirked._

"_She might not even have me."_

"_Aw, what kind o'talk is that?" Aidan exclaimed. This time, he was the one who slapped Arthur on the back._

"_A'course she'll 'ave you! The lass loves ya!"_

"_Smitten."_

"_Though for the life of me, I can't know why," Alan teased._

"_Was I the only one who didn't see this?" Arthur exclaimed, bewildered._

"_Aye. Ye mus' be blind, boyo."_

"_I must be blind, indeed!"_

"_Well, that doesn't matter now," Alan said. "What matters is you're going to see her."_

"_Aye! Be good, lad!" Angus wrapped his arm around Arthur's shoulder and squeezed._

"_Treat her well!" Aidan said._

"_And don't worry about a thing. You both will be very happy, I'm sure," Alan said, last of all. And Arthur watched as the three of them left his house, waving goodbye._

"_I will, lads. And thank you," he murmured._

"That's the boat whistle," Alice said. "You'd better hurry and go."

Arthur fumbled with his coat, hat and his small satchel he carried. Alice made sure to check him over one last time to make certain that he had everything before they bid their final farewell.

"I'm sure the boys gave you orders, but I shall give you mine now," she said.

"I don't mean to be rude, but make it quick, dear."

She smiled. "Do not doubt yourself, or her. The two of you will make each other happy, you will see. Just don't forget what you feel right now, right this very minute."

She embraced him. "I love you, brother."

"I love you too, Alice."

"All right. Perhaps I shall visit some time."

"I would like that."

Alice was never one for being overly dramatic, so she merely said, "Well, well, get along with you. We can't have you missing your boat!"

She saw him smile before he turned to run for the boarding dock, with his servants following behind him. He handed his ticket to the man and boarded. With a grin and a shake of her head, Alice turned and headed for home. She knew deep down that yes, Arthur would be happy.

As the boat got closer and closer to its destination, apprehension slipped away and turned into longing. Arthur could see her in his mind's eye, her small frame, long hair, her surprised face… As he lay in bed one night, thinking about her, his heart beat faster and he envisioned pulling her into his arms, running his fingers through her hair, and kissing her dear face. She would act annoyed for a while at seeing him, trying to hide her surprise, but he knew that her front would give way to delight. At least, that is what he hoped.

He would be greeted by Henri as well. Perhaps the lad would see him first and get Michelle's attention. Hopefully he would be happy to see Arthur, though Arthur wouldn't be surprised if the lad resented him for leaving previously, for Arthur had a feeling that Michelle had told her brother about what had passed between them. Arthur could only hope that if Henri did resent him that it wouldn't last for long. He found that he did like the young man.

Finally, the boat reached its destination. It landed in the harbor that was located in the small island's capital called Victoria. As Arthur suspected, it had changed since he last visited. Things were modernized according to its day and commerce in the small city had grown. Arthur figured that Michelle was still living in her little cottage home, however, so that was where he would be headed to next.

After sending his belongings and the servants to the address that had been set up for him in the city, he paid for a horse to ride and headed in the direction of the village where Michelle and Mama Cleo lived. He could remember it well, and finding his way was not hard. His head felt light and his heart was racing. This was it. This was what he had been waiting and longing for in the past several weeks and months. Years, even, though he had not realized it. He began planning on what he was going to say. He had sent out a letter to Michelle a few weeks back, to let her know about his visit, but she had not responded. At the time, he had thought it odd, but he didn't really pay much attention to that. It wasn't his fault if the letter was misplaced.

He had just about thought out what he was going to say to Michelle when he was stopped on the road by some villagers. When asked what the problem was, they told him he could go no further. The path had been blocked.

"I don't understand," he said. "What do you mean by blocked?"

"The path has been obliterated by a landslide, Sir. We are in the process of cleaning it out."

"Well, is there another route I can take to get to the village? I have to get there."

The men stared at him sadly. "Sir, the village is gone."

* * *

**A/N.: **All right, guys! I really like this chapter, just saying. Raised the rating to T because of it, what with there being drinking and all... Though I found it quite amusing while writing it.

Fun fact: I got Aidan's drinking songs from the movie _The Quiet Man, _which stars John Wayne and directed by John Ford. It's about an American who was born in Ireland who is returning to the Irish isle of Innisfree after a disappointing life in America. He comes back to the land he was born in and falls in love with a feisty Irish woman (played by Maureen O'Hara). It's an amazing movie (practically all filmed in Ireland with a lot of Irish actors). I highly recommend it, and you can actually find it on YouTube, I think!

It being Britain we're dealing with, I had to throw in some British poetry and sonnets. I figured he'd do a lot of reading from their works when he's in that lovelorn mood. I mention a few snippets from pieces from Charles Dickens (_Barnaby Rudge), _Lord Byron (_She Walks in Beauty), _Lovelace (_To Lucasta, Going to Wars), _and of course, the Bard himself (_Sonnet 116). _

Fun Fact #2: The phrase "God invented liquor so the Irish wouldn't take over the world" is an Irish quote and I heard it on the movie _The Ghost and the Darkness. _I find that quite hilarious.

Lastly, I feel I should deal with the passing of time when it comes to Hetalia characters. In my opinion, time passes quicker for them than it would for us. Since they are immortal, I would imagine a hundred years wouldn't seem as long to them as it would to us.

Ok, that's all. Thanks for reading! :)


	10. Chapter 9: Oct, 1862

**Warning: **This chapter is nothing but fluff and more fluff. No real substantial plot. You have been warned. ;)

* * *

Chapter 9

October, 1862

"Now, don't fret, sir. I'm sure everything will turn out all right," said Mrs. Briggs. She sat beside her employer, patting his hand while Arthur Kirkland sat on a chair leaning his head against his free hand. His other servant, Davies, had gone out about town, trying to gather information about what had occurred in the past couple of weeks.

After Arthur had learned that a landslide had obliterated the small village where Michelle and Henri lived, the man went basically mad with fear and worry. Some of the local men had him escorted from the site and he was transported to the city of Victoria and to the doctor that resided there. The man, in turn, sent him back to his lodgings to rest. Mrs. Briggs was ordered to dab his face with a cool cloth and to have smelling salts at hand until he recovered from the panic attack. But it was not rest, nor any sort of medicine that he really needed. All Arthur needed was news – news about the one person who meant the world to him. After a while, he had been able to get a word out and had ordered Davies to go inquire around about what had befallen the villagers.

Now he sat in his apartment in the city near the water, waiting. His dear housemaid continued to try and console him, being the now-elderly matron that she was, but even she was apprehensive. After what seemed like hours of nothing but insufferable waiting, Davies returned.

Arthur jumped out of his seat as the man entered the room.

"What news?" he demanded.

"I was told that a terrible storm had caused loose earth to fall from the jungle and went down into the villages. Because of the landslide and the winds, many people lost their homes. Some lost their lives. They're still trying to figure out how many have died."

Arthur passed a hand over his eyes. He knew that this had to be tearing Michelle apart. He figured that this was one of the first times that she and her people had experienced anything like a major loss of life, and he knew that Michelle would be heavily affected. Being both country and human, it took a heavy toll on them when their countrymen died, and when many lives were lost all at once, it was especially painful. Arthur knew that even if Michelle wasn't hurting physically, she had to be hurting mentally.

"Do you know where Michelle is? Have you seen her? Do you know how she is doing? Speak up, man!"

Arthur took hold of the man by his sleeves and shook him as he bombarded him with questions. Davies placed his steady hands on Arthur's shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. Sadly he could tell his employer nothing. He had not seen Michelle.

Mrs. Briggs gently ushered Arthur back to his seat. "There, there, Mr. Kirkland. It's going to be all right. Just rest now. You'll overexcite yourself again if you're not careful."

Arthur felt his temper rise. "I will not overexcite myself, good madam. I'm not a feeble old man!"

The room was silent until Arthur sighed, inwardly wincing at his harsh tone of voice.

"I am sorry. I should not have lost my temper like that."

The two just gave him sympathetic smiles. They knew his apology was sincere.

"We took no offense, Sir. I may not have found your lady friend, but I did find someone who knows where she is."

Arthur jumped from his seat again, eyes widened. "Where is he?"

"I'm right here."

In stepped Henri. He looked tired, but he was unhurt. His face, however, was more serious than Arthur had ever seen. It was quite unlike the jovial young man he remembered. Arthur approached him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"How are you, lad?" he asked concernedly.

Henri was able to manage a small smile.

"I'll be all right. I am a little surprised to see you here, though," he admitted, and indeed, he was. After his sister had told him of what had transpired between Britain and her, he figured that the two of them wouldn't want to see the other for a good, long time. In a way, he was right. Michelle didn't speak or ask about him. She admitted that they did sometimes write to each other, but the correspondence between them was spasmodic at best, and usually only consisted of business matters, such as requests from her bosses to become a colony independent from the neighboring island Mauritius.

Even so, here was Britain in their capital city, desperately concerned about Michelle's welfare. Fascinating.

_He really does care for her, even after all this time… I wonder how she will react to this._

"I'm not surprised that you would be," he heard Arthur say. "No doubt your sister told you about what occurred between us the last time we were together. But…" he stopped and looked away. Henri, already mildly surprised, was even more amazed when he saw the stuffy British man try to actually conceal some emotion.

"I've said it before, and I am saying it again. I was a fool," he said angrily. "I ran away from the idea of being with your sister and it was cowardly of me. I was afraid, you see; afraid to throw myself into a commitment that I wasn't sure I was ready for. I wasn't sure that I loved your sister. I suppose I was unaware of my real feelings… until now.

"Henri, you are her brother, and are the closest person to her. I am sure you have felt some resentment toward me for confusing your sister the way I did. But all I ask is to see her, just to make sure she is all right. I…" He stopped, unable to say more.

But Henri had heard enough. He stared at Arthur for a moment. At first, he was tempted to act coldly and tell him that Michelle was better off without him interfering in her life. The more he thought about this, however, the more he knew that he wouldn't be right. He could see very clearly that Arthur truly did love Michelle and who was he to stand in his way? He knew Michelle was still in love with the Briton.

Instead, he found that he was able to give Arthur a warmer smile.

"Michelle is all right, don't you worry. Well, that is to say… she's not hurt. If you want to see her I can take you to her."

"Please," Arthur answered quietly. He felt extremely grateful that Henri was willing to overlook whatever resentments he might have.

The younger man nodded and beckoned Arthur to follow him. After quickly assuring the concerned Mrs. Briggs that he would be all right, he quickly hurried after Henri. The two of them made their way past the main city and headed toward the beach. Scattered further away from the city and closer to the shore were small houses where fishermen resided. Henri led Arthur to one of these houses and they entered. Immediately Arthur saw that rocking back and forth on a rocker in the middle of the front room was Cleo. She looked tired and much older than when he last saw her. Her face was lined with care and worry. When the door closed behind the two men, Cleo looked up. A very small smile came upon her face.

"Well… look who it is…" she said quietly.

Arthur returned her smile with his own sympathetic one. He knelt in front of her and took her hand.

"I am very happy to see you are well," he said earnestly. After all, unlike him and Seychelles, Cleo could have really died. She patted his hand.

"Thank you, _cher._ You're very kind."

"Is there anything I can do?" he inquired. He was mentally making a note to write to his bosses in Parliament later to send supplies for those that needed it.

Cleo just shook her head. "I thank you for your concern, but don't you worry about me."

Despite Arthur's insisting on doing some sort of assistance for her, she just shook her head. "You're a good boy to care about an old lady like me, but I know why you're here…" Her smile widened. "She is upstairs."

Arthur's heart beat faster. After a moment's hesitation, he gave the lady's hand a gentle squeeze, stood, and followed Henri up the stairs.

"She's been very strong these past couple of days. I don't know how she does it…" Henri shook his head.

"She wasn't hurt at all, was she?"

"No. But… she lost one of her daughters… and one of her grandchildren…"

Arthur closed his eyes for a minute. He had lost people in the past – people he cared about – but he couldn't ever imagine losing a child, or even a grandchild, especially in such devastation like this. He didn't know what to say. He felt utterly useless, as he usually did when faced with so much death.

"I just wish…" he muttered.

"Yes. I know."

"We're such unique individuals… but we can't do anything to stop these things from happening… We can't save people…"

Henri nodded and gestured to one of two doors up on the small second floor.

"Here we are."

Arthur took a deep breath as Henri slowly opened the door. It was a small room with a bed, a small night table and a rug on the floor. A big window with a window seat was the first thing Arthur saw, and curled up in a quilt with her face looking out the window, was Michelle. Immediately his heart beat quickened and he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and just hold her tightly. He did not, however. He just turned to her brother who nodded.

"Michelle?" Henri said quietly. She didn't stir.

"She must be asleep," Henri said. "These days she doesn't do much but sleep and look out the window."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Has she been eating or drinking?"

"She's tried. It's been hard for her to keep anything down, though."

Arthur went over to the window seat and knelt down, now able to get a good look at her profile. In the sunlight, her color was a bit paler than it should be, but she was as beautiful to him as she had been the last time he had seen her. Her hair spilled over her face and shoulders and he smoothed it away to see her face better. He couldn't help himself and gently stroked her cheek. The skin felt hot and damp to the touch.

Suddenly, she stirred and Arthur drew his hand away. Taking a deep breath, her eyes drooped open and after a minute, she recognized Arthur. She gave him a delirious smile.

"Hello, there, Arthur," she murmured.

He knew she was sick and that she probably wouldn't remember any of this so he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. It felt so natural, as if he always kissed her on the forehead when she woke up.

"Hello, dearest."

"Was I asleep?"

"Yes."

"Oh. How silly of me, sleeping in the middle of the day and with you visiting…" She sat up and swung her legs over the side. Arthur instinctively took hold of her arm.

"Wait, Michelle. You have a fever. Careful, now…"

She feebly shoved his hand away and stood to her feet. She began taking a few steps toward the door.

"Oh, stop worrying like an old mother hen. Now… what was I doing?"

"Watch her, Arthur! She's going to faint!"

Arthur caught her just in time before she crumpled in a faint to the floor. Now he did scoop her up into his arms and carried her to the bed where he gently laid her down. Henri covered her with the quilt from the window seat and they both watched her as she fell back to sleep.

Arthur sat beside her on the bed, stroking her hair.

"I take it you'd like to stay with her?"

He looked up at Henri. "Just for a little while longer. I would also like to come and check on her tomorrow, if that's all right?"

Henri nodded. "That would be fine. I'm going to go downstairs now."

"Thank you, Henri."

The door closed softly behind Michelle's brother and Arthur continued to keep watch over the sleeping woman. Her fever worried him a little. Her skin was hot to the touch and sweat was beginning to cover her forehead. He quickly spotted a wash bowl full of water with a cloth soaking in it and dabbed her forehead with it in an attempt to keep her cool. It seemed to help, but then her brow furrowed and he heard her whimper in her slumber. Suddenly she gasped and her eyes flew open. She would have jerked strait up in the bed, except Arthur steadied her gently with his hands on her shoulders.

"Steady on, Michelle," he said quietly. "Everything's all right."

Gasping, she continued to look about the room in delirious fear. He knew it was the fever that was causing her wild behavior and he continued to treat her gently. She began to cry and her hands shot up into the air, seemingly grasping for something only she could see.

Arthur didn't know what to do. He tried to think of all those times aboard ship or on the battlefield when faced with sickness, but there had always been doctors at hand when the men were feverish or ranting from delusions. And he was no doctor. He was tempted to run downstairs to seek assistance, but he didn't want to leave Michelle alone. He was afraid she would unintentionally harm herself. Michelle began to cry harder and all he could do was pull her in his arms and hold her.

"Shh, dear one… It's going to be all right. I'm here. Everything's all right…"

His voice seemed to calm her and her crying slowly ceased. She began shivering, however, and he pulled the quilt around them both. She murmured something incomprehensible and she nestled into his chest.

After a few minutes, she actually spoke. "Arthur?" she whispered.

He was quite surprised that she knew he was the one holding her.

"Yes, I'm here. What is it?"

"Could you braid my hair for me? It's getting everywhere and it's annoying."

He couldn't help but smile. "Of course. Here, I'll help you sit up."

She was sitting up in front of him and he wrapped the quilt around her shoulders so she could stay warm, although her shoulders were still quivering. He swept the long, sweaty locks into his hands and gathered her hair together. He loved the feeling of it between his fingers. Soon her hair was pulled back into one long, sloppy braid (it had been a long while since he had been required to do such a thing).

"All right," he said. "There you go. Now, why don't you try lying back down?"

She didn't answer and remained hunched over.

"Michelle?"

A quick observation showed that Michelle had fallen asleep sitting up. This time, she was sleeping soundly. Arthur managed to get her comfortably under the covers and after assuring that her fever wasn't rising, felt comfortable in departing for the night. Before leaving, however, he bent over and gently kissed her forehead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry for everything that's happened… and I am sorry for my cowardly actions. Just … try to get well soon, please."

She smiled in her sleep and made a small sound of contentment. With one more lingering glance at her, he left her room and headed for home.

**…**

Michelle stirred from a very heavy sleep and felt the oddest sensation that she had not been alone the night before. She had felt like someone else had been with her in her bedroom. Well, apart from her brother, that is. She studied the tip of her braid pensively. Her hair had not been braided when she was lying on the window seat, and Henri didn't know how to braid…

_Hold on. How did I get in this bed in the first place? Did Henri put me here?_

Her throat hurt and her head was pounding, but she didn't want to keep lying in bed all day. She saw the sun peeking through her curtains and figured it had to be late in the afternoon, or early evening. Slowly she swung her legs over the side of the bed and began to stand to her feet. Her head began to spin. After a minute of squeezing her eyes shut and taking a couple of breaths, she found that she was able to slowly walk toward the door. It was almost too heavy for her to swing open, but she was able to after some effort.

She heard voices downstairs. It sounded like Henri and Cleo had company. After listening for a moment out of curiosity, her heart almost stopped. It was Arthur's voice she heard.

_It can't be! I must be imagining it. Yes. I'm imagining it. My fever is making me hear things… I mean… He can't really be here…_

She gripped the handrail as she slowly went down the stairs in an effort to steady herself from tumbling. Peeking around the corner, she saw Cleo in her rocking chair, Henri sitting in another chair and the back of _his_ head. That's when the shaking increased. She couldn't help it. Just hearing his voice again was enough to have her trembling, especially in the state she was in already. She did not want to show herself. For one thing, she was sure she looked terrible, being in a rumpled nightdress with a mussed braid. She also was reluctant to talk to him. She had no earthly idea why he was back on the islands again. Their letters never indicated that he was planning on visiting her any time soon, and they hadn't exactly been cordial to one another, just polite and distant. Everything had gotten too awkward for anything more. She could remember being grateful that they were only writing letters to one another and not talking in person. And now…?

"Michelle? Is that you?"

She gulped. It was no good acting like she didn't hear them.

"Yes," she answered in a raspy voice. She tried to clear her throat. "It's me."

"It's good to see you awake!" Henri said happily. "Not to mention out of bed! Can you manage…?"

"I think I'll be all right," she answered as she walked slowly up to them. She kept her eyes on the floor as she sat down on the sofa a couple inches away from _him. _She could almost _feel _him watching her, and she didn't dare meet his gaze.

Of course, that meant that she was going to have to eventually.

"Mr. Kirkland came here to see you, _chérie._"

"Yes, I noticed…" Her hands began shaking and she folded them tightly in her lap. She looked up at him and she was immediately lost in his bright, green eyes.

Then her heart began hammering in her chest when he gave her a kind smile. "So how are you feeling?" he asked.

She dragged her gaze away from him and looked down at the floor again. "Better than I was feeling yesterday…"

"I was told about the storm." She froze. He placed his hand over hers and she felt embarrassed about the way her hands continued to shake.

"I sent for help and supplies. Your people won't be forgotten during this time, Michelle."

She nodded and thanked him, but she did not look at him again. The three of them were quiet and the mood of the room became awkward.

"Well…" Henri murmured. "Perhaps you don't know the details about everything that happened…" He looked at Michelle. "Do you want me to tell him… or …?"

"Wait. Steady on, now." Arthur held up his hands. "Neither of you have to tell me anything. I know you are all mourning losses and I don't want you to have to…"

Michelle stole an appreciative glance his way while shaking her head.

"No," she interrupted. "I will talk about it. It will do me good, I suppose." She looked up at Cleo, and the lady spoke to her in French. What she said seemed to give the young woman confidence and Arthur watched her as she closed her eyes and sighed.

"There was a terrible storm the whole day that lasted into the evening. There were torrents of rain and heavy wind. The waves were also incredibly high. We hadn't seen a storm so powerful for a long time, and the wind blew off the roofs of many houses. That's when the landslide occurred. I remember seeing it, coming down from the jungle, and it was _fast. _It swept over houses and…" Her voice began to quiver. "I could see people drowning…"

She couldn't say any more. Images of her people screaming, running, being swept away and struggling under piles of mud and debris were flashing before her eyes. Their faces and cries for help were burned in her memory.

_I'm sorry! _She wanted to shout._ There was nothing I could do!_ _I'm sorry I couldn't protect you!_

She buried her face in her hands and began to sob. It couldn't be helped. The memories were still too fresh, the pain still too real. As she continued to cry, she could hear people shuffling about and felt a pair of strong arms embrace her. Before she knew it, she was weeping into someone's linen shirt. At the moment, she welcomed such a comforting gesture and clutched the shirt desperately. Hands were slowly rubbing her back and caressing the top of her head.

"There there," a voice said quietly. "Everything's going to be all right. I know how you must be hurting right now. It always hurts when we lose our people. I wish I could say it gets easier over time, but… What I can tell you, darling, is that you won't be alone. I will be here…"

Arthur whispered this so quietly that only Michelle could hear his words. She was able to stifle the tears long enough to look up at him. There was such tenderness in his eyes that she had never seen before. She flinched ever so slightly when his thumbs brushed away her tears, and when there were no more to dry and he continued to hold her face in his hands, she became incredibly bewildered.

"A-Arthur?"

He cleared his throat, lowered his hands, and put some distance between the two of them.

"Forgive me," he said quietly. "I got a little carried away just now."

He would have rather just kissed her then and there and explained everything later, but he couldn't – not in this house, with Henri and Cleo so nearby.

Her face turned an adorable shade of red and she slowly rose from the sofa.

"I'm going to go… take a walk or something," she muttered.

"You're not strong enough yet. Look at yourself. You can barely walk to the door!"

She glared at Arthur. Curse him for being so blasted concerned about this!

"Then I shall go and see what Cleo is doing! I cannot stand to be sitting around any longer!"

Arthur watched as she slowly headed through a door that led out of the parlor.

**…**

_Why, why, why?! Why does he always have to invade my life? I was getting along so well until he showed up! I had almost forgotten… well, not forgotten, but I was getting used to my life without him!_

Michelle glared at the back of Arthur Kirkland as he made his way back to the city. He had stopped by _again _to see how she was recovering. This had to be the sixth time this week, and every time he had been spotted, both Cleo and Henri had made sure that she knew about it. Why? It wasn't like she cared!

_All right, maybe I do care… a little bit._

Every time he visited he would sit and talk with the other two – they would laugh, Arthur would tell them about world affairs, ask Henri how the less-than-fortunate villagers were faring – and all the while, he would watch her very closely, as if she was the most interesting thing to him since sliced bread! It was almost unbearable.

She had made her two housemates promise that they would tell Arthur she was still too weak to leave the house. She didn't want to be asked to take a walk with him or anything. She wasn't about to let herself be alone with him. As a result, she became practically a shut-in and was even tempted to lock herself up in her room every time she saw his blonde head walking to her house from her window. It was on this day, after Arthur's sixth visit had come and gone that Michelle gave in to that temptation.

"Did you know that Mr. Kirkland bought an apartment in Victoria?" Henri said to the two women as they finished cooking dinner.

"He didn't rent out as usual?"

"No. This time, he bought an apartment for himself."

Michelle almost dropped her spoon.

"What?" Her heart began to pound.

"Yes indeed. Looks like he's grown quite fond of our little island." Henri winked at them.

"How very odd," Cleo said, albeit smirking all the while. "I wonder what would possess the man to do so."

"Your guess is as good as mine." Henri looked at his sister. "What do you think, Michelle?"

"I think I shall stay in my room whenever the blighter appears!" she snapped.

The other two stared at her.

"What?" Henri exclaimed. "But I thought…"

"Oh, hang what you thought, Henri!" Michelle cried, close to tears. She threw down her spoon and dashed out of the room.

The poor young man looked at Cleo in bewilderment.

"I don't understand. She still loves him, doesn't she? Or was I mistaken?"

Cleo shook her head.

"No, you were right. She loves the man, more than ever now, I'm guessing."

Henri scratched the back of his head.

"Then why… I mean…?"

"I'm thinking the girl just doesn't know how to react to Mr. Kirkland's sudden change in behavior, so she's putting herself on guard. Think about it, the man hardly writes, doesn't try to make contact with her, until now. And in addition, he's acting quite … dare I say it? Romantic. It seems that Mr. Kirkland has realized his feelings himself, and is trying to figure out how to express them. He should tell _mon petite _what is on his heart soon. I don't know how much more of this she will take."

Even as she said this, however, she began to chuckle to herself. Meanwhile, up in her room, Michelle was clutching a quilt while absently staring out her window.

_He came to make sure I was all right and he bought an apartment in the city… That must mean he plans on staying for a long time!_

She covered her lips, trying to hide an embarrassing smile that no one saw. Even though she was determined to stay away from him (for now, at least), she couldn't help but feel an immense surge of happiness at the thought of him living near her for an exorbitant amount of time.

**…**

"Why is she avoiding me?" Arthur inquired to Cleo. The two had run into each other in the city. Cleo was returning from the market bearing baskets of fresh fruit and fish.

"Well, I'm sure she is confused about your being here. After all, the last time you two saw each other it didn't exactly end in the best of circumstances, did it?"

He wryly chuckled. "No. We didn't exactly quarrel but we did part rather awkwardly."

Cleo hummed and nodded.

"I would advise letting her know of your intentions, Sir."

"Oh, don't you worry. I fully intend to tell her as soon as possible. The only problem is, I haven't been able to talk to her. She always holes up in her room when I visit and refuses to see me."

Cleo nodded again in agreement. She began to think.

"Ah. I have an idea. Come to the public dinner that is scheduled on Saturday. There is going to be music and dancing. Michelle will be there and you can tell her then. She won't be able to avoid you that night."

"How do you know?"

"It will be a dinner to help feed those who lost their homes in the landslide. Michelle will be one of the dancers."

A surge of anticipation rushed through him.

"Capital."

Cleo winked at him and chuckled.

"Ah, you young people… Well, I guess I shouldn't say _young _people, should I? I mean, considering who the two of you really are… Ah well. Being the old woman that I am, I cannot fathom such a phenomenon. You look younger so I shall see you as younger. Like I was saying, you young people and your love affairs are so amusing."

Her words honestly made him laugh out loud.

"I'm glad that we can offer such entertainment for you, my good lady. Do you need some help with those?" He gestured to the baskets she held. "I can carry one for you."

She good-naturedly shook her head.

"Thanks, _cher, _but I can manage. I'm not that old yet!" She grinned. "We shall see you Saturday evening, yes?"

"Most definitely."

And with that, they bid the other goodbye until then.

* * *

The beach was alight with torches and lamps that Saturday evening. Large tents were set up to shelter long tables laden with food, drink and such goodies that promised to be scrumptious. All around were people sitting on benches and talking, drinking, and just enjoying each other's company. Many who had lost their homes were enjoying a wonderful meal – a better meal than they had eaten for a few weeks. The British (at the request of the island's governor and Arthur himself) had sent food and other supplies as well, which added to the merry-making. The waves were slowly rolling up onto the shore as the tide came in and the sun began to set. As Arthur sampled some of the food and wine, he watched as everyone happily ate and talked together. Even some of the higher officials could be seen happily conversing with fishermen. He could see some children romping around in the sea and making hills in the sand. A couple of dogs were barking and running along the shore.

Yes. Everything was good. Now the only thing that would make this scene even better for him would be the sight of _her, _dancing before his eyes.

Then some men began to pluck their musical bows and beat on drums as they sang a lovely tune in their exotic Seychellois Creole. It was an emotional song, sorrowful yet hopeful, about the lives that had been lost and the hope that the days to come would be brighter. When the dancers came out in a flurry of twirling skirts, they moved with the music gracefully. They were lovely with flowers in their hair and on their wrists. Michelle was among the dancers. She was spinning amidst them and dancing in movements that went along with the words. Each dip of the head and twirl of the skirt was full of emotion and elegance and Arthur was captivated by her loveliness. When she spread out her arms in a gesture to embrace those that had died, he longed to envelop himself into her arms. With every gentle sway of her hips, he fell more and more under her spell. When the dance became more hopeful and less melancholy, her face lit up with a smile and it seemed as if her smile could have only been for him.

"Your drink is going to get warm," he heard someone chuckle.

"Hm? Oh. Yes. Quite."

His eyes drifted down to the glass in his hand but soon went back to the twirling dancers. His heart bucked against his rib cage. He couldn't take his eyes off of her again.

"Quite warm indeed…" he murmured.

The light from the lamps made her skin glow and her hair radiant. The rest of the world disappeared. The music and chatter of the people faded away and for Arthur, there was only him watching her dance.

_I love this woman, even if she is a colony and even if I would be old enough to be her father. I cannot help it. Everything about her, I love. Her temper, her joyful nature, her beauty… _

He clenched his fists. _I can't stand it any longer. I need to tell her the first chance that I'm alone with her._

Even as he made that final decision, however, he began to inwardly argue with himself again.

_You can't be sure that she's still in love with you. You've seen the way she's been acting. She won't even see you! It looks like your temperamental behavior scared her off for good this time._

_ Even if that's the case, I have to tell her. Even if she rejects me, I've been rejected before. I can handle it._

_ You fool; you know that this is entirely different. You'll be torn apart if she refuses your declaration. Is it really worth the risk?_

He gave one last long glance at the dancing woman before whispering, "Yes. Yes it is."

…

It was well past sundown when the dance had ended and the dinner was slowly breaking up. Children were sleeping on their parent's laps or down by their feet. Some people had gone home or began cleaning up. Others continued to talk. Arthur, however, was looking for a certain someone, and he saw her heading for the beach.

When he caught up to her on the shore, he called out to her.

"You've been avoiding me," he said.

"I've simply been busy."

"Doing what? I highly doubt there is much you can do in your room, Michelle."

In that moment, when she slowly turned to face him, she had never looked more beautiful. Her hair fell down past her shoulders and her eyes smoldered with an angry fire. The far-off lights from torches faintly illuminated her features. Arthur had to catch his breath.

"What's it to you?" she demanded.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped when she marched up to him and continued glaring at him with those big, shining eyes.

"I don't need this, Arthur! I don't need all this confusion and these sudden visits! Tell me why you are here and why you bought an apartment in Victoria! After all this time when you didn't even…" She stopped. Her fists clenched and she looked away.

"You know what? Just forget it. I don't think I want to know. It probably has to do with some governmental business or something… Just do what you like, Arthur."

She began walking away from him, but he was not about to let her go.

_"Do what you like," she says. I plan to._

"I will tell you why I am here," he exclaimed. With a couple of strides, he caught up to her and grabbed her arms, spinning her around to face him. He was admittedly a little rough, and inwardly hoped he hadn't jostled her too badly.

"What do you think you're doing? Let go of me!" She shouted, seemingly none the worse from his forceful actions. Instead, she angrily struggled and squirmed. She even pounded her fists against his chests a few times and kicked his shins. He did his best to disguise his grunts of pain while his temper rose.

"Not until you listen to what I have to say!" he shouted back. He had planned to give her a magnificent long, flowery speech that declared his ardent love and admiration for her. He had even written it out and gone over it several times, editing the parts he thought were a tad too verbose or effusive. But now, when faced with this woman and her anger as well as his frustration, all those words were forgotten.

"Well, what do you have to say?" she snapped.

"For one thing, I did write to inform you that I was coming! I suppose the letter got lost on its way to the island."

Michelle stilled.

"But that's not all I want to say. I want to tell you that I've spent these last several years utterly perplexed and torn about you; that I needed the words of a drunken Welsh, Scottish and Irish man to see how much I've been an idiot; and that I did something completely unlike myself and bought a blasted apartment out here when I have two perfectly good (and much larger) houses back at home."

She studied his face thoughtfully while trying to process all of this. Was he implying that his feelings had changed? Even though she remained skeptic, hope was slowly wriggling its way into her heart.

_I can't believe him, _she inwardly objected, _not unless he comes right out and says that he loves me…_

"So what are you implying?" she asked. "Why should I care that you've bought an apartment, realized that you're an idiot and have been perplexed about me? You've perplexed me enough and I've known for a while that you are an idiot!"

He gritted his teeth and pulled her closer. "Because you have come to mean more to me than just another colony that I can govern and lord over. You are not like a daughter to me. You are not even just another woman that I am on speaking terms with. Even if others may frown upon it in the future, I don't care. You, you insufferable, mischievous little woman," he gently shook her, "must know what I truly feel." His chest heaved up and down.

"I'm in love with you. It has taken me a considerable amount of time to realize it, but there it is. You can accept or deny me as you wish, but I had to tell you of my affections, or else I would have gone mad. Now that I have done so, I am at your mercy to deal with me as you will."

His tight hold on her slackened and he silently, anxiously waited for her reply.

Michelle just gawked at him. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You… you love me?" she breathed, staring at him in astonishment.

"I have said as much. Do you doubt me?"

Her stare turned into a slight frown. "Admittedly, yes."

He didn't blame her. He would have doubted as well, had he been treated the same way she had been. Even so, his blasted temper began to rise again and he tightened his grip on her arms.

"Then perhaps I should demonstrate in actions rather than in words." He pulled her to him and roughly smashed his lips against hers. Her eyes flew open and she was frozen in place. It was the third time he had kissed her, and she found that she enjoyed it more with each kiss. Rough though it was, this kiss indicated that perhaps he was truly sincere. It also indicated a passion that she hadn't known was so deep.

When he pulled away, she saw desire in those darkening green eyes, and she was beginning to wish she had at least kissed him back.

"Do you believe me now?"

His actions did speak louder than words, but instead of accepting him so readily, she tested him one last time.

"You've kissed me before. How am I to know that what you say is real?"

He actually smiled in response. "All I have is my word, Michelle. And I swear to you that I am in earnest. I do not recklessly throw my affections around, and I have not been with a woman for quite some time. I say this again. _I love you_. I want you to be mine. Will you give me a chance and let me become yours?"

Suddenly a smile began to form on her face. It was small at first, but grew until it was a wide, cheerful grin. He loved her. He truly, honestly loved her! It was almost too good to be true.

_But it __**is**__ true! Arthur Kirkland loves me… _

"I have longed for nothing else," she answered, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Arthur's stomach fluttered in excitement. She had accepted him! Everything he had imagined and hoped for was now happening and suddenly, he felt stunned and overwhelmed. "T-Truly?" he stuttered. "In that case…can I kiss you again? I mean…" He wasn't sure why, but all of a sudden, his Victorian sensibilities were kicking in.

Her melodic laugh drifted in the air. "Of course you can! Why so formal all of a sudden? You can kiss me all you want!" She happily tilted her head up and closed her eyes.

She heard him chuckle. "Sorry. I suppose my sense and customs returned to me. I am not accustomed to rashly kissing someone like that. But now that I have your permission, Mademoiselle…"

He gently pressed his lips against her neck, under her ear.

"I fully intend to kiss you as much as I want."

She shivered in delight and clutched the back of his shirt. When he kissed her on the lips, she felt his hands run through her hair. But what brought her true pleasure was the realization that a man, _this_ man, loved her and wanted to kiss her. What's more, since he actually had bought a place to stay, she knew she wouldn't have to worry about long separations unless they were utterly necessary. The thought of it all left her giddy and she fervently kissed him back, tilting her head to the side as their lips brushed against one another's.

When the kiss ended, they laughed together and held each other tightly. It was as if they had never known such happiness before and were uncontrollably dizzy with it. No one would have guessed if looking at him, that this man, who was hugging this woman so tightly and whispering words of devotion and love to her, was the dignified British representative for the Great Empire of the nobility of Britain and Ireland. He soon would wonder at himself as well, and try to comprehend how he could be so (as he would put it) lovesick and unbearably ridiculous. That would all end, however, when _she _would appear and he would soon be "under her spell" again, as he would put it.

"I would not be surprised if you were actually a siren in human form," he said to her on more than one occasion.

"Oh don't be silly. You cannot believe such things exist," she would scorn, even as an almost otherworldly smile came over her face.

"I was a sailor once, remember, darling. We believe in fantastical things, and I believe that such creatures could exist. One day I am fully expecting to catch you in your true form amidst the waters."

"You cannot think that I want to lure people to a watery grave, do you?" she exclaimed, a bit resentfully, all the while nestling in his lap with her arms about his neck.

"Of course not, but I could believe that you would want to entice me into forgetting myself. You are still somewhat French, after all," he murmured as he nuzzled her face and neck. She smelled overwhelmingly good.

He heard her giggle. "It always comes back to the French roots, doesn't it?"

"Well, you were influenced by that moron. I can imagine that you get some of your behavior from him."

"Do you hate France?" she asked, suddenly curious. He looked up at her.

"No. Not anymore," he answered. "I still don't particularly _like _him, but I've come to accept him for who he is. He was like an annoying big brother to me at one point, after all."

"Really? Considering how long you two have been fighting, that must have been when you were quite young."

"Oh yes. Considerably young."

She grinned. "I should like to hear about a young Arthur. Were you chubby and shy?"

His face actually turned a shade of red and she found him more lovable than ever.

"I don't know. Look, let's not talk about it," he barked. "There are better things to talk about…" His glance became mischievous. "Like what we're going to do now that you and I are so… intimately acquainted."

* * *

It was a few weeks later, after that momentous Saturday evening, that Arthur was waking up to the sound of rain pattering against his window. He slid his eyes open and noticed that the room was dark, even with the curtains drawn. Suddenly he had a fleeting sensation that he was back in his old room in the city of London, on another rainy morning. His eyes widened, and he began to fear that everything that had happened in the past couple of days had been nothing but a dream. Was he still alone, back in his old countryside home, far away from Michelle? Was he just waking up to another meager day of nothing but business and world affairs?

He sat straight up and looked around the room. After a minute, his fears were abolished when he realized this room was not the same as the one back at his home. He sighed in relief and leaned back for a minute, just listening to the rain falling on the roof. So it was raining, that was not such a terrible thing. He was just content to be living only a minute's walk away from the woman he was in love with.

"Hello in there!" Someone called.

"Hello!" he called back. He paused. That hadn't been Mrs. Briggs talking. He leapt out of bed, pulled some pants on and swung the door open. There stood Michelle with a big smile on her face, wielding a spatula.

"Good morning!" she said in a singsong voice.

"Good morning! A bit early for a visit, don't you think?" he smirked, delighted at the sight of her.

"Did I surprise you?" She gleefully gave him a warm hug.

"You did indeed! And what is this all about?" Arthur pointed to the spatula in her hand.

"Oh! Well, you see, I've been trying to improve my cooking, and I figured you wouldn't mind if I fixed you breakfast one morning!" she chirped.

He was again pleasantly surprised. "No. I don't mind that at all. What are you making?"

She gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen where a lit wood-burning stove with a pan on it was ready for cooking. Michelle pointed to some eggs and cut fish lying on a makeshift wooden table nearby.

"Some fish and eggs. How does that sound?"

"I say it sounds good enough to eat!" he exclaimed.

As she began cooking the fish and eggs, Arthur decided to sit down at the table to stay out of her way. Even though this was the area where the help would eat, he didn't mind all too much. It was just a table like any other table. He figured people on these islands didn't care as much about where certain people ate their meals.

"Where's Mrs. Briggs?" he queried.

"She went out to walk around the city. I think she really enjoys living by the ocean…Erm… The man who works for you is also… taking a walk…"

Arthur frowned. He couldn't see Michelle's face, but judging by her voice, she was having problems.

"Are you all right?"

"Well… erm… I don't know. I don't think the eggs should be that color…"

He slowly rose from his seat. "Michelle…?"

Suddenly, she stumbled back from the stove with a shriek while clutching her hand as the food in the pan spontaneously caught fire. Arthur quickly leapt from his chair and caught her.

"Watch yourself!" he exclaimed. Grabbing a cloth that hung from a line above, he used it to protect his hands as he removed the pan from the stove. He stood there for a minute or two, desperately trying to figure out what he should do with a pan of burning food in his hands when Mrs. Briggs entered the kitchen.

"Saints above!" she exclaimed, as she took in the sight before her. "What on Earth is this?"

"I could use some assistance, Madam!" Arthur exclaimed.

With a sigh of exasperation, she grabbed a pot lid from a counter and placed it over the pan in Arthur's hands.

"Here, I will take that, Sir."

He willingly handed her the pan by the handle. She took it and set it down on the kitchen counter, waiting for the grease fire to die out.

"What were you trying to do?" she inquired.

Michelle winced, still clutching her hand. "Merely trying to make breakfast for you all…" she said shamefully.

"Oh, dear, that's wonderful," the good lady said in a softer voice. "And… what was the breakfast to be?"

"Fish and eggs." Michelle sighed. "I guess I'm still not much of a cook if I let the food catch fire so quickly."

As Arthur gently urged her to sit down at the table, Mrs. Briggs gently smiled.

"It's not that. I just think you didn't mind what you were doing. You have to be careful with grease when using an open stove."

"Oh, I see…" Michelle still didn't feel very comforted.

"Don't worry, Michelle," Arthur said good-naturedly. "I'm sure your cooking can't be any worse than mine!"

He grinned, which caused her to grin back regardless of the embarrassment she felt, or the pain on her hand. Of course, his kindness didn't help ease the pain. She winced as she looked down at the bright red splotch on her palm.

"Did you burn yourself?"

"Yes. Quite a bit, actually."

"Why don't the two of you go to the pump and soak that in the cool water? I'll take care of the breakfast," Mrs. Briggs sugggested.

"All right. Thank you, Mrs. Briggs." Arthur took Michelle by the other hand and they headed outside.

"I must say, this has been quite a morning. I hope you won't find me rude, but life is never dull around you, Michelle!"

"Humph. I suppose I can take that as a compliment. We wouldn't want you to get bored, now would we?" she said dryly.

"Well now, if I did get a bit bored, I'm sure I could find some sort of amusement…" His grin was positively shameful as he leaned down to kiss her neck.

Michelle's face turned a shade of beet red. "Oh look! There's the pump!"

As she felt the cool water running over her hand, soothing the burn, Michelle discreetly stole a glance at Arthur and saw that he was blankly watching the people around them as he leaned against the pump. With an inward shrug, she figured now would be a good time to ask him as any.

"Say, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"I have a question…"

"All right. What is it?"

"Well…" she stood and rubbed her thumb over the aggravated area, though the pain was slowly going away. "Seeing as how the two of us are… as you put it, 'intimately acquainted'…"

He smiled. "Yes."

"And want to see each other every day…"

"That's right. And we do."

"Well…I was just thinking… what if the two of us decided to…" She sighed exasperatedly. She didn't know why she was having such a hard time with this! She had been planning on asking him this over breakfast, after all!

Now she had Arthur's full attention. "Decided to what?" he inquired.

"What I mean to say is… can I … stay with you?"

He blinked. "Stay with me?"

"Yes! I don't take up much room. Most of my things fit in one trunk!" she said happily. "It would be like how we were back at your country home!"

Arthur raised a hand in opposition. "Wait! I… you mean, _to live _with me? Under the same roof?"

She unabashedly nodded. "Yes. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Well, yes… I mean, no! I mean… I don't think that is the best idea, Michelle." He balked at the idea.

"Why not?"

"Because! I… you… It's just not done, you know?"

He was beginning to grow tired of using that reasoning.

"Are you still concerned about being alone with a lady unchaperoned?" she queried, giving him a teasing smile.

"Oh please. I was only concerned about that blasted convention for my sister's sake." He rolled his eyes. No, the real reason why he was hesitant about living with Michelle was a wholly personal one. With her in such a close proximity to him… well, he wouldn't be sure if he could withstand the temptation to fully make her his. Would she be ready for that kind of physical intimacy? He wasn't sure.

Her look was confused. "Then what's the problem?"

He scoffed. How was he to explain his inner turmoil? _I don't want you living with me because I would be tempted to bed you? _Right. That would certainly go well.

"Look, I'll think about it, all right?" he said after a minute. "Now why don't we start heading back?"

Michelle frowned as they walked back to the apartment.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. If I had known you would be uncomfortable about it, I wouldn't have mentioned it."

_Oh lovely. Things are just getting more and more complicated. Bloody brilliant. The truth is, _he glanced at her from the side, watching her lovely face, _there's nothing I want more…_

"Listen…" He saw Michelle look at him. "It's not that I am uncomfortable with the idea, per se… I just…" He sighed. "It's complicated. Just let me think about it, all right?"

She took his hand. She wasn't going to let a silly little thing like differing views on living arrangements ruin a potentially good day. "All right, Arthur. Say, what do you want to do today after we eat breakfast?"

**…**

The next thing he knew, Arthur was wasting the day away lying on the beach in the shade of a low-hanging palm branch. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around. Had he fallen asleep? He was lying comfortably on a blanket with a couple of dishes that still had half-eaten food and drink in them. Suddenly, he heard someone call out his name.

It was Henri and with him, Michelle.

"I told you!" Michelle exclaimed as they approached him. "He wanted to rest. Look, you've probably gone and woke him up!"

"No, no. I was awake. How are you, Henri?" Arthur held out his hand for Henri to shake.

"_Je suis bien! _Erm, I mean, I am well! I just wanted to say goodbye to the both of you before I go visit our cousin."

"Ah. Mauritius? Well, I hope you have a pleasant trip."

"_Merci! _Also, I… ah…" He turned to Michelle. "_Pourriez-vous nous laisser un instant s'il vous plaît?"_

She stared at him before nodding and heading back to the ocean. Meanwhile, Henri knelt down on his haunches beside Arthur and grinned.

"I didn't want her to hear what I was going to say next. Thought that would be a little indelicate of me. I was just wondering, Arthur… May I call you Arthur?"

"I don't see why not."

"_Très bon! _Anyway, Arthur, I was wondering, us being friends and all," his smile became teasing, almost eerily similar to that of that blasted Frenchman… Arthur began to guess what he was going to ask.

"How are affairs between you and my sister? I mean, have the two of you…"

"Oh for the love of Mike, Henri! Really!"

"Well, she is my sister after all! I just want to make sure she's being properly cared for!"

Henri was probably being serious, but the young man did wink when he said that, to Arthur's chagrin.

"You shouldn't let Bonnefoy influence you so, lad," was all Arthur groused out. Henri laughed at that. It seemed that he understood what Arthur was referring to.

"When I told him how things are now between the two of you, he said I should be sure that you are being a _proper_ gentleman, you see."

"You told France? Oh Lord…" He began to feel a migraine coming. The last person he wanted knowing about his relationship with Michelle was her former guardian. He would never hear the end of it, and wouldn't be surprised if the fellow challenged him to a fight for Michelle's honor or something.

_ He would do something like that, just to annoy me…_

"Ah, don't worry about it. He'll probably find out how good of a man you are when Michelle tells him about the two of you. You are being good, aren't you?" He winked again and nudged Arthur's arm.

His glare was positively frightening, but just like his guardian, Henri found it incredibly amusing.

"You English!" Henri exclaimed, laughing. "I suppose I'll just tell France that you're being an absolute angel. How about that?"

"You can tell that wine loving bastard that he can go straight to…"

"Henri! Sea turtle eggs are hatching!" They heard Michelle exclaim. Henri's face was suddenly filled with delight.

"_C'est merveilleux! _Where? Let me see!"

Suddenly, Henri dashed away from Arthur's shady branch and headed off to the right, closer to the shore. Michelle, in turn, came up Arthur and sat down beside him. He unashamedly admired her slender legs that stretched out in front of them.

"He likes sea turtles a lot," he heard her say laughingly.

"Hm? Ah… who likes sea turtles?"

"My brother. You know, that fellow over there?" She pointed to the smaller form of Henri as he lay on his stomach, seemingly watching as little baby turtles tried to crawl to the ocean.

"Oh right, of course. Sorry," he muttered. He couldn't help the fact that he really wanted to run his hands along her smooth calves. They just looked so soft…

"Hello? Mr. Kirkland? Wake up!" she teased, knocking him on the head.

"All right, all right, cut that out!" he demanded. She merely giggled and ruffled his shaggy hair.

"So what were you two talking about?"

He hesitated before answering. "Let's just say that I take back what I said about hating France," he finally growled out.

Michelle, of course, was confused as to why.

**…**

Even though no steps were taken to move Michelle into his apartment, that did not stop her from coming over. There were times when she even came for visits quite early in the morning and Arthur would receive quite the wake-up call, indeed. He got used to it after a little while. After all, it wasn't like the visits were unwelcome. It was on a Tuesday in mid-November that she was paying him another one of those early visits.

"You know, darling, you shouldn't keep doing this," he told her amiably, as he went through his morning toilette. He stared at her from the small mirror set on a dresser as he proceeded to shave. He had to be careful though. What with him continually watching her gleefully hopping up and down on his bed, he was liable to cut his chin, or even his throat.

"Doing what?" Michelle asked. She flopped down upon the bed's springy mattress like a little child would. "You know, I don't think I've ever been on such a bouncy bed before!" She gave him a radiant grin as her hair settled around her shoulders.

_By George, is she lovely... _He tried to ignore the rapid beating of his heart. "Well, you know, dropping by at all hours in the morning, especially when I am still not up; at least give me time to freshen myself up before visiting!"

She could tell by his jovial tone of voice that he wasn't earnestly scolding her. Deep down, she knew he was quite pleased with having her here. She stilled, now lying on her stomach with her hands supporting her chin and watched as the razor smoothly scraped away the suds over his jaw, chin and under his nose. His shoulder blades flexed ever so slightly with each movement of his arms and she could see some of his upper torso in the mirror. He wasn't as broad or as muscular as many of the fishermen here, but he was wiry and tough. Judging by the scars she could see on his back, he had been through some hard times, and yet he was still able to carry on, unbroken. She admired that in him. She hoped to tell him that some time.

"I'm sorry. If it really is so troublesome, I suppose I could just stop by every so often."

"Oh, now wait a minute."

"It seems as if this is as bad as me staying with you," she teased. "And here you said those silly conventions meant nothing to you."

"Blast you, woman, they don't! If I am concerned about them, it would be for your sake, not mine!"

She tilted her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the general consensus would be that you are my mistress if you lived with me. People would say you have no self-respect and whatnot," he shot her a wry look, "though we know that is not true, even if you were raised by that wine loving arsehole."

"You're so very funny," she sarcastically replied. After a moment's pause, with him rinsing his razor and applying the last touches, Michelle sighed, slid off the bed and stood behind him. Just as Arthur was about to shave off the last few patches, he felt her thin arms wrap around his waist and she rested her cheek against his back.

"I don't care," he heard her say. "It's not like we have many options to begin with…"

He smiled as he lowered his razor to rinse it once more. "To tell you the truth, I really don't care either."

The room grew quiet and as he reached up to shave one last spot, she placed the slightest of kisses just above the small of his back before resting her cheek against him again. There was a sharp intake of breath from him and his hand slipped. The sharp stinging along his jaw was ignored, however, and he set the razor down and unfastened her hands from around his waist.

He felt warm, warm all over, as he took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. She visibly swallowed before reaching up to touch his cheek.

"You're bleeding," she said absently.

"Hm? Oh…" Arthur touched the sore spot on his jaw and saw blood when he pulled his hand away. He then watched as Michelle left his side for a moment and picked up a towel from the dresser.

"Here," she said. She began gently dabbing the cut while tilting his head to the side somewhat so she could clean it easier. "There's… quite a bit of blood," she murmured, growing more and more distracted by Arthur, "for such a small cut…"

He ran his hands up her arms and took hold of hers before pulling her closer to him. His lidded gaze and dilated pupils were focused solely on her lips. When they finally made contact, he let go of her hands so that he could rest his on her waist, and in doing so, press her body closer to his own. She held him by the back of his neck (the towel now lying discarded on the floor), more than willing to let him take control. He took everything slow at first, giving her chaste little kisses that left her wanting more. A chill ran through him when her hands traveled from his neck down his back, tenderly caressing each scar she felt.

"Nasty, aren't they?" he whispered against her lips. "My scars, I mean."

She gave a tiny shake of the head. "I don't particularly think so. They're nothing to be ashamed of."

He cupped her cheek in his hand. "And if I had them all over, on my arms, my face? What then? I'd be particularly ugly, wouldn't I?"

She grinned. "I don't know if I would say that, though you aren't exactly the handsomest of men I've met."

He laughed at that. "So I am ugly even now?"

"No. Nor would you be if you were covered in scars. You would still be Arthur, and would still be wonderful and I would still love you."

Then Michelle kissed him, and when her mouth opened slightly, he took the chance to deepen the kiss. He heard her take a breath through her nose and lightly grazed his teeth along her bottom lip, garnering a surprised sort of squeak from her. Arthur pulled back a little, waiting to see if she liked or disliked it. He wanted to be careful in what he did, making sure to notice things she may like or dislike. After all, he figured she wasn't as experienced as he was.

She made no move to distance herself from him, however, and he took another chance and began kissing her openmouthed. He was pleased to find that she reciprocated willingly. He ran his hands up and down her back in comforting caresses. When he took a step further and brushed his tongue against her lips, he felt her tense up a little, but not for long. She found this new way of tasting him, of exploring him, quite desirable.

Things were really beginning to heat up as she brought her hands forward, gently dragging her fingernails along his chest, when she suddenly froze and quickly dislodged her mouth from his.

"Arthur!" she panted. "You… your cut…"

A line of blood was trickling from his jaw, down his throat and onto his chest. He didn't seem to mind all that much.

"Oh dear. Should probably clean this up, I suppose," he said nonchalantly.

She huffed and retrieved the towel that she had previously dropped. With little to no bashfulness, she made a quick business of wiping the blood off of his person. She then shoved the towel into his hand, and made him press it to the cut, which still bled a little. All the while, he watched her amusedly.

"You could do with a plaster, I think. Hold on, I'll get you one."

She walked out of the room and left Arthur smiling to himself. He chuckled a bit, and ran his free hand through his hair. By Jove, that had been absolutely splendid. She had been so delicious and tempting at the same time. Even now he could still feel her lips against his and he knew he would be thirsty for more of her.

Michelle came back with the bandage, a small smile on her face. It seemed that she had quite enjoyed their little exchange as well.

"I'll look positively ridiculous with this on my face," he objected even as she applied the bandage to his jaw.

"Well, you should be more careful when you shave then, Sir." She gave his cheek a soft smack.

Suddenly, everything he had previously said and worried about all became a bunch of hogwash. All societies and conventions be hanged. He knew what he wanted and knew that Michelle wanted the same thing.

"Michelle," he said in a low voice. She had finished bandaging his cut and stared at him expectantly.

"Yes?"

"I want you to stay."

"With you?"

"With me."

She gave him another one of her devilishly teasing smiles. "What if people talk?"

He shrugged. "Let them. We both don't care, and I know that there's nothing I want more than…" He stopped and just looked at her pleadingly.

But she understood.

"I would be more than happy to stay with you," she answered.

* * *

**A/N: **OKAY. It is DONE. *collapses*

Sorry if there are mistakes and whatnot in here. I haven't been feeling well, and I don't feel like proofreading, so nyah. .

Don't ask me why, but this chapter was, like, whooping my butt. It was trying so hard not to be finished. I had such trouble with this little beast, and I don't know if I'm 100% satisfied with it. But, as long as you guys like it, than I'll be happy. ^3^

Writing this at the beach was fun. And sorry if some of the dialogue sounds really corny or overtly romantic. I have been watching some old romantic/comedic movies, ya know. The classics. :D So some of the dialogue may sound like it comes from, like, a Cary Grant movie or something. XDD Not really sorry about it, actually. So I suck at writing romance, sue me. lol.

So.. yay! Tell me what y'all think? *puppy eyes* I've really appreciated the reviews, btw. You all are wonderful. :3


	11. Chapter 1O: Letters

**A/N. **Hiiii gieeessss... 8D Ummmmm... Filler chapter. Kinda... sorta... But it is relevant. Don't worry. This doesn't mean that I'm ditching this story. I still have at least five chapters in my head that just need to be penned down. So... yeah. :9

* * *

Chapter 10

Letters

November, 1879

_My Dearest Arthur,_

I was sorry to hear about the turn of the war that you mentioned in your last letter. I hope you and all your fellow soldiers are keeping in good health, at least, as best as you can. It must be so hard, Arthur, having to deal with all of this on your own. I know I am but a poor little stretch of islands and have no idea of how it is to be a great empire consisting of four countries and several colonies, but I would guess that fighting in so many wars and handling these matters has got to be tiring for you. Oh, but I know what you would say. You would say that it is all for the good of your people and for the empire; God Save the Queen and so forth! I just can't help but worry about all of you. War is such a dreadful thing, though I am sure it can't be helped sometimes. Like I said, I don't know much of these matters, being so alienated from most of the world. All I can say, I suppose, is_Ç'est la vie, _and hope things will turn out all right.

Your sister actually came for a visit a couple of weeks ago. I admit I was not too sure how she would take to the islands' climate, but you'll be happy to know that she seemed to enjoy herself. At first, she mainly stayed indoors and just relaxed at our home. Soon, however she actually ventured outside to "take the waters," as she put it. Arthur, I wish you could have seen the way she acted. She was smiling and happy as we splashed in the water together. You would have hardly recognized her! She was like a little girl; so very playful!

Alice got to meet Henri, though I don't know how they felt about each other. She seemed to find him amusing, but I think she came off as rather stiff to him. The two of them got along pretty well, all things considered. I was quite sorry to see her leave. Life has gotten rather quiet and lonesome what with Cleo and Mrs. Briggs gone and with you away. Henri has been quite busy as well, and is gone a lot of time. He wants to be the one who handles the discussions with our bosses about the government. He's become quite interested in political affairs.

Oh Arthur, I know I probably sound petty, but I do miss you terribly. I cannot wait until the war is over so you can come back to me. I miss spending time with you, eating with you, and seeing you relaxing in your chair pouring over the latest novel that's popular. I even miss the smell of your tobacco and the sound of you complaining about my messy habits. I know people like us do not injure as easily as normal beings do, but please, try to stay safe. I'm sending some supplies in a package for you, and I will be thinking about you every day. Please take care of yourself!

_Waiting for You,_

_Michelle Gallaud_

February, 1880

**...**

_Darling,_

Alice told me about her stay at your home, and she said that she did have quite an enjoyable time with you and Henri. I was quite envious of her, I will admit. I think she was just as entranced with the island as the rest of us English were. She did not tell me that she splashed about like a child though. I guess she just conveniently forgot to mention that.

It is incredibly cold over here on Afghanistan's land, even colder than what it usually is back at my home during this time of year! It makes me miss both of our homes equally. I thought of you the other day and how you would hate the cold weather here, being so used to the warm tropics of your island. It is actually a lovely stretch of land with some impressive mountains, though. The people here are unique and there are many different ethnicities. Even so, I do long for home quite a bit and I think of you every day.

I wish I could write more, but our troops are on the march right now, and we only stopped to take a quick rest. We shall resume marching in a few minutes, so I have to cut this short. We're heading for the city of Kandahar, which promises fighting (we expect to run into some of Afghanistan's armies there) and perhaps some interesting sights. I have been told that this city has quite a lot of history to it. If we have time to look around and something catches my eye, I shall be sure to buy it and send it to you as a gift. I will do my best to keep in good health and stay sharp. I wouldn't want you to needlessly worry about me. You make sure to take care of yourself as well!

So Michelle, I end this letter by telling you that I miss you as well. I lie awake at night sometimes and imagine that you're with me, with your sweet smile to give me comfort. I mean, not that I would want you with me during the war, but I do miss having you near. I cannot wait until I can come home and have you in my arms again. Until then, I remain,

_Ever Yours,_

_A.K._

* * *

December, 1895

_Dear Arthur,_

I'm sending this to both your troops over in Egypt's land and to your office in London, since I cannot be sure where you are right now. How are you? Are you taking care of yourself? What is Egypt's home like, and how is he? You told me that his economy wasn't faring too well lately, and that you were supposed to help him. Is everything all right with him now, or are things basically the same?

I remember meeting Egypt briefly at one point. He was very quiet, but he seemed like a pleasant sort of person. He was not as open as India, however. Did I tell you that I met India? While you were back at your home conducting business for Parliament, he wrote to me and asked permission to meet. He was so friendly and we got along quite well. His food is incredibly good, though it is extremely spicy! I like the way he makes his rice and he has this seasoning called curry that goes well with any kind of meat. But I expect you have tried it many times, since you both seem to know each other well enough.

Arthur, when you get back, I think I shall try my hand at making some curry! I may even make some tonight. I'm beginning to want some. Does Egypt know how to make curry?

I also met a fellow named China when he came for a visit a few weeks ago. He told me that he is acquainted with my cousin, and he was curious in meeting me. It was quite surprising! He is a very polite sort of person and he's so knowledgeable! Just like India, he introduced me to some wonderful aspects of his culture. There is this food he makes called noodles that are very delicious, and all they're made out of is flour and wheat dough! Incredible, isn't it? The way he makes rice is delicious too, even if it is different than India's rice. They both have shown me such amazing food. It makes me hungry just thinking about it! You know what, Arthur? When you get back, I think I shall make you a _mixture_ of Indian and Chinese food! I hope you won't mind! My people and I like both types a great deal!

Also, both he and India have asked me if some of their people can come and live on my islands. Both men were so polite and asked so nicely that I couldn't say no! They seemed to appreciate it when I gave them permission and China told me that if I needed help of any kind, he would come to my assistance. Isn't that nice of him? So now we have a lot of different people living here, (which includes the several groups of exiled men that were sent over here by your bosses). I am also happy to report that everything has been going smoothly between the prisoners and the other immigrants. The islands still remain safe and we do our best to treat everyone equally and fairly. In fact, our little city of Victoria is expanding and small businesses are beginning to flourish! Allow me to feel a little proud for a minute…

Well, Arthur, I shall have to end this letter now. I hope you will enjoy a little bit of news concerning how things are faring over here. I send lots of hugs and kisses as well as my thanks for the different gifts you have sent recently. Though I do have to say that the best gift I could ever receive is the sight of you walking through this door.

_All My Love,_

_Michelle Gallaud_

_P.S., Henri wanted me to tell you that there is going to be a letter sent to your office in London discussing us becoming a Crown Colony independent from Mauritius. But I didn't want to talk about that kind of thing here, thus the postscript. These letters are just for us._

**_..._**

June, 1896

_My Darling,_

I hope you will forgive the lack of letters recently. I will try to make this a longer one and tell you of our affairs over here in Egypt's land. I had been back in London for a little while when I received your letter and I had been unable to respond because I was needed by Egypt, himself. I am doing well; nothing badly broken or anything. We have just won a bit of a victory, though several lives were lost. Last night we surprised and ambushed some of the enemy and were able to drive them out of their camp. It was a decisive victory that has given me some time to write a letter to you finally.

Egypt is doing better. His economy has improved and he has a new leader. His armies, with some help from my people, have also strengthened and hopefully he will improve in all aspects after this war. I will tell him you asked about him. He will undoubtedly be pleased. Your mentioning curry makes me wish I had some as well. I may ask India if he will make some. Egypt doesn't know how to make curry dishes, to answer your question, though he does have his own unique recipes. As for what his land is like, well, there is a lot of desert and as such, it can get quite hot in the day and cool at night. I'm sure you wouldn't mind it too much, being used to a warm climate. Because of the abundance of desert, most of his people are located along the great Nile River, so a lot of the land is unpopulated.

So you have met some other countries, have you? I am glad to see that they treated you well, especially India. If you had said otherwise, I may have had to talk with the man personally. As for China, he and I have had a bit of a colorful history, so I don't know how I feel about him getting chummy with you, though I suppose that was rather sporting of him to offer you his help. He had better not be trying to steal you away. I'll knock his teeth out if he is.

It is good to know that things are improving back at your home! You have every right to be proud of your people, my dear! I suppose I can expect quite the bustling city when I get back.

Michelle, between the two of us, I am getting rather tired of all of this fighting. I know that the empire is broadening and we gain more power from all of the wars we win, but I am beginning to long for peace again. I keep daydreaming about my home as well as your island. Darling, I wish I could come back to you when this is over, but if I am not fighting in a war for the empire, I have to be back in London taking care of political affairs. When I am back at my home, I try to find solace in the country, but then I think of you and I begin to long for your presence. I miss holding you. I miss hearing your voice and your laugh. I miss having you sleeping next to me.

Ah well, it seems one of the officers needs my assistance, so I shall have to end this. I shall be looking forward to that Chinese and Indian dinner when I next see you.

_Yours Faithfully,_

_A.K._

_P.S., Don't you worry about writing about those kind of affairs to me. I shall make sure that the letter your brother sends will be taken care of._

* * *

February, 1900

_Mon Lapin,_

Another war, another long separation… I do admit that I am a little thankful that your bosses don't require any of my people to assist you in fighting… You must think I am quite selfish to think so, but there it is. Though I don't see how a small army of my people could help much in the first place, since there are so few of us. Ah, well. All I know is that this means I won't see you for some time again. I won't bore you with pleas about your health. You know I think of you daily. Instead, I shall try to amuse you in this letter. You need some source of cheer during so much fighting, right?

Do you like the name I have given you? Oh dear, it is in French, isn't it? I am sure that irks you to no end, seeing as how you apparently loathe my "big brother." Well, I must inform you that I think the name rather suits you, French and all. (Can you tell that I am smiling while I write this?) Your sister informed me when she came to visit again that you used to have pet hares and pet rabbits when you were younger. That is a sight I would have loved to see. I bet you were just darling! Arthur, when you come back here, you should bring a rabbit with you so we can keep it as a pet! They're such cute animals! Though do you think a rabbit would be all right in the island's climate? Oh dear. I wonder…

I started reading some of those detective stories you recommended. I must tell you that the one short story "Adventure of the Speckled Band" gave me the shivers! I want to tell you what happens, but I don't know if you have read it yet, so I will just say that I was quite surprised at the ending! When you get back, we should read it together. We could playact it out or something! I can already hear our debate though. You'd demand to be Sherlock Holmes and I would have to be Doctor Watson. It's just like when we act out plays you always demand to be the main hero and I have to be the supporting heroine. Just once I would like to try my hand at acting out the role of Hamlet or Macbeth, you know. Besides, I think you'd be a good Lady Macbeth! (I'm teasing, of course.)

It will be good when you have time to take a holiday again. You will finally be able to take a rest and we can spend time together (even though it is ironic that you're up in South Africa right now, which is not as far away from here like Egypt or Afghanistan). I can remember the last time we were able to see each other; you seemed so worn out, but don't you worry. When you come back here for a good long while, I will make sure that you will get plenty of sleep. Plus, my cooking has indeed improved and I have concocted some new recipes with seafood and curry! I am rather proud of myself. So, you have something exciting to look forward to.

Well, Arthur, when you get back we will be able to do all sorts of things, but for now, I will end this letter in the hopes that you will be well. After I finish writing this, I shall begin planning things that we will do!

_You're in My Thoughts,_

_Michelle_

**_..._**

March, 1900

_Dear Michelle,_

Things have actually been going well over here for our forces. We have occupied the city of Bloemfontein and we will be moving on to the city of Pretoria, hopefully soon. Our leader Lord Roberts is a reliable old chap. He served in India's land before this and he is quite a decorated military man. We shall be heading toward the Orange River after Pretoria. That means a lot of marching, which we are not exactly thrilled about. India, Australia and a few other allies are with me and we make the most of our downtime. Believe me, there is a lot of downtime, too.

Crikey, I can't believe you gave me a French nickname! But I can't stop you, can I? And I am not going into detail about supposed pet rabbits when I was a child. I expect I shall come home and receive plenty of teasing about it, but it seems that Alice has told you plenty, so I don't think I will take your bait. Do you really want a rabbit for a pet? I suppose they are pleasant animals to have around. They can be quite soft and you don't have to worry. Rabbits can adapt to pretty much any climate, I believe.

Remember when we decided to playact _Romeo and Juliet?_ I admit that was something that I quite enjoyed. You were a ravishing Juliet. And you should know that there is a reason why I like you playing Lady Macbeth. You do a good job of convincing me to kill a man. It is a good thing that you are no scheming seductress in reality! When I get back to the island we will do some reading together and yes, I will playact as Holmes. No argument. But maybe I will let you play as Hamlet sometime. I can be lenient on that regard.

A nice, long rest sounds pretty good right about now, especially on your island with you. You know what else sounds really wonderful: sleeping on a hammock with the sound of the waves nearby with you lying next to me. If I could do anything to quicken this war so I could come back to you, I would. Since that is impossible, I will continue to wait for your letters and think of you. I send you all of my love, Darling. Your letter cheered me up quite a bit and allowed me to relive some pleasant memories. Take care, and I will hopefully see you soon.

_Until We Meet Again,_

_A.K._

_P.S., Michelle, you mentioned that you think you and your people don't amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but though that may be the case where population counts and numbers are concerned, I want you to know that you mean a great deal to me, personally. I love you, Darling and I am also happy that you do not have to be over here fighting in this war. The last thing that I ever want to see is you on the battlefield getting hurt. I send you all my love,_

_A.K._

* * *

**A/N. **

Okay, so I mentioned that even though this is kind of a filler chapter, it does have relevance. Well, yes. You see, around the later 1800s, Britain was beginning to become quite full of himself, shall we say and he was expanding his horizons. In other words, the Empire was beginning to expand, which meant more colonies to obtain and whichmeant a buttload of wars over in Africa and the Middle East. Yep... So, our two protagonists probably couldn't be together all that often over the years. I figured if Arthur wasn't off fighting abroad, he would have to be back at his home conducting business affairs and negotiations. Makes sense, I think. So, when all else fails, and you don't know when you'll next see your loved one, write letters to them! Aww!

I had three wars in mind when I wrote their letters. First one was the Second Anglo-Afghan War, which went on from 1878-1880. Next was the Madhist War,

which lasted from 1881-1889. Last, was the Second Boer War, the South African War, or also known as the Anglo-Boer War, which lasted from 1899-1902.

Like I said, Arthur would have his work cut out for him! O_o

Also, one more thing. I researched the culture of the Seychelles and it turns out that there is a bit of an Indian as well as a Chinese influence in their food,

among other things. There were Chinese immigrants in Mauritius and Seychelles as well, so I figured that I should mention a sort of meeting between our

heroine and these two countries. Turns out, both China and India still are close acquaintances of the Seychelles Islands. Neat, huh? :)

If this is typed out weird, was acting strange. Ok. :D


	12. Chapter 11: 1903 pt 1

**Disclaimer: **Slightly umm... nsfw... I mean... I don't think it's too much. But if you think it is, let me know and I'll raise the rating.

* * *

Chapter 11

1903

**...**

_April, 1839_

_ The morning sun peeped in through lace curtains and Arthur squinted as he began to awaken. With a sigh, he passed his arm over his eyes and slowly sat up, running his hand through his hair. Despite the previous night, he felt unfulfilled, empty even. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and just sat there, staring at the floor. There was sudden movement on the side of the bed next to him and he felt a hand upon his back._

_ "Arthur?"_

_ He turned to look into the light green eyes of Belgium, who was watching him concernedly. She pulled the covers around her chest and scooted closer to him._

_ "Is something wrong?" she asked quietly._

_ He sighed again and looked away. "I am sorry, Emma. I… I shouldn't have done this," he answered._

_ She sat back against the bed rest and looked out of the window. After a pause, she spoke. "I know. A… A part of me kept telling myself that we shouldn't have, but…" _

_ She turned back to him and sadly smiled._

_ "Things have been different between us for a while now, haven't they?" she asked._

_ He kept his back to her as he spoke. "Yes. I think they have."_

_ He felt terrible. Ever since they were younger, Arthur and Emma had been good friends and over the past several years, had been more than that. But lately feelings had dwindled on both sides and due to certain events that had occurred in the past four years, Arthur was beginning to realize that something was stirring inside of him, and that feeling had nothing to do with the woman sitting next to him._

_ "I… I suppose your attentions lie elsewhere now? Had I known, I wouldn't have dreamed of…"_

_ Arthur quickly turned to face her and grabbed one of her hands._

_ "None of this is your fault, Emma!" he exclaimed. "It was me. It was all my doing. I… I thought that if we…"_

_ He felt despicable at even hinting at the fact that he had instigated this whole thing because he wanted to get someone else off of his mind._

_ Emma sadly smiled and touched his face. "Don't worry, Arthur. I'm not that hurt. My feelings haven't exactly stayed constant either." _

_ She leaned over the side of the bed and retrieved her nightgown. She then pulled it over her person and stood up._

_ "Can we at least still remain friends?" she asked._

_ Arthur returned her smile with a smile of his own. "We shall always be friends, Emma."_

_ "Good." The Belgian woman ran her hand through her mussed blond waves. "Well, I'd say I'm in the mood for some tea. What about you?"_

_ He nodded, but his features became sad again. Even now, despite the night's events, and despite this lovely woman who was willing to forgive him, images of golden-brown eyes filling with tears invaded his mind. The whispered words of 'Do you love me?' laced with a French accent echoed in his ears and he could still remember the exhilaration of kissing her and holding her in his arms._

_ Yes, despite it all, he had not erased the island girl from his mind._

* * *

1903

Anticipation. That was the proper word to describe his emotions at the moment. Urgent, gripping anticipation. It was over. All of his war troubles and his business affairs were at an end, for now anyway. And that meant one thing: he could see her again. How his stomach fluttered! How his heart raced! He couldn't remember feeling this excited since preparing for the battle of Waterloo. In his small parcel of a bag, he kept her letters to him. He had read them over and over so many times. He could probably recite them from memory by now. And now, he would be able to actually hear her voice and see her instead of having to read her words and imagine what she was doing.

The ship docked in the harbor of Mahé and Arthur took a deep breath. There was no use in making a scene. There would be time for tears and rapid greetings soon enough. He didn't even see Michelle waiting for him, which admittedly left him disappointed. He had written beforehand, letting her know when he was due to return, and she had received it this time. She should have been waiting.

He stepped off of the platform and onto the dock, shouldering his bag and making his way to the city of Victoria. He suddenly felt tired. Perhaps a nice long nap would do him good. Then he would see what Michelle was up to. He tried not to think about it, but he did feel a bit saddened that she hadn't been waiting for him.

As he continued heading toward the city, he thought he heard someone shouting his name, but he paid it no mind. All of a sudden he heard a great commotion, and before he was able to fully turn around to see what was going on, he was tackled from behind. He fell in a heap onto the ground.

"Oh! Oh, Arthur, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean…"

He would have been stark raving mad, had he not recognized the voice. Rolling over onto his back, he looked into the eyes of the woman he had so longed to see. Instead of showing his delight, however, he feigned anger.

"What do you bloody think you were doing?" he exclaimed. "You could have seriously injured me!"

She looked alarmed and leaned over him, strands of her hair tickling his cheeks.

"I promise I didn't mean to hurt you! I was just so excited to see you that I-"

"Well next time, how about considering a better alternative of getting my attention before you decide to attack me, all right?"

She pouted- literally pouted - to his surprise and secret delight.

"You don't have to be so mean about it," she whined. "After all, we haven't seen each other since… Since… It has to be at least three years now!"

Arthur laughed and Seychelles stared at him, dumbfounded. She was beginning to wonder if the long voyage had left him a bit addlebrained.

"Oh, I'm sorry, love. I was just teasing you. You did give me quite a start, though!"

He sat up and wrapped his arms around her. After a moment's pause, he heard her laugh and she returned his embrace.

"I missed you," she said softly.

"Hmm. I missed you as well, darling."

She pulled back, took his face in her hands and gave him a tender kiss. He didn't want it to end, despite the fact that they were sitting in the midst of a crowd with people watching them as they passed by. And the more he deepened the kiss, the more his sense of restraint was slipping away. His hands itched to go beyond mere polite, fleeting touches.

_Blast. I should really stop… _he thought. _But I just don't want to._

In the end, it was she who stopped the kiss first. Now a bit on the breathless side, and a bit red in the cheeks, she sat back and smiled.

"I suppose we should get out of the middle of the street?" she teased.

"Hmm…" Arthur looked up to see the locals staring and grinning at them. Some even pointed and winked.

"Perhaps that would be a good idea," he chuckled. The two helped each other up and began heading homewards.

"Did you send your luggage ahead of you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I'm sure you're tired. You should get some rest when we get back."

"Oh, I am not very tired, actually."

Michelle looked up at him. "Oh, really? When I saw you get off of the ship, you seemed a bit downtrodden."

He chuckled a bit sheepishly, tenderly squeezing her hand. "To be honest, I thought you hadn't shown up to greet me. I was a bit disappointed."

"Oh, Arthur!" Her laugh tinkled down the road as they walked on a path leading to the house.

"I was waiting for you! I had just stopped by someone's stand to get a couple pieces of fruit. I was a little hungry while waiting."

She poked his arm. "You just weren't looking in the right places."

Inwardly, he felt relieved and quite sheepish. He also felt a little ashamed that he doubted her on such a small thing like waiting for him at the docks. He didn't have to worry about any of that any longer, though. The two of them were reunited. Everything would be all right now, he hoped.

And yet… looking down at her hand and up her arm to view her smiling profile, he gulped. Had she gotten prettier since he last saw her? Granted, he thought she had always been lovely, but after kissing her just now… He was finding it hard to keep his eyes from wandering over her figure.

When they reached the house, he was surprised to find a woman there to greet them. Michelle apparently wasn't, because she happily waved to her.

"This must be Mr. Kirkland!" the lady said with a kind smile. On a closer look, she was dressed modestly with an apron tied around her waist.

"Indeed it is! Arthur, this is Mrs. Abigail Connors. She's been hired to help around the house."

"Oh, really? Well, thank you for your services, Madam," said Arthur. He held out his hand and the lady took it. "Though I didn't think hired help was necessary…"

"It was your sister's idea," Michelle said.

Arthur sighed. Of course Alice had been behind this.

"I could do with the job, Sir!" the lady interjected. "And I promise I'll be a good worker!"

"Well, well…" He looked at Michelle. "I suppose if you don't mind…?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't want her to be out of a job… And her cooking is very good," she whispered confidentially.

He couldn't help but smile. "Then I guess you are hired, Madam," he said to Mrs. Connors.

Having been employed for a couple of weeks prior to Arthur's return, Abigail Connors had been curious to see what the man was like. Michelle had spoken of him fondly, which made the woman curious about the two's relationship. Now that Arthur had come home again, Abigail took the time to observe her two employers together as she performed her daily tasks. It seems that the relationship between them was for the most part a good one. Michelle teased Arthur quite a bit and riled him up, which resulted in amusing little arguments. Other times he was the one that baited her and she would end up pretending that he had hurt her feelings. None of their arguments were truly serious, though, for the most part. To Abigail, the little fights seemed to be entertaining for the two of them and they seemed like a couple that deeply cared for one another; at first.

But Abigail began to notice that there were times when Michelle would say or do something that caused Arthur to freeze up, in a way, and he would become stiff and almost cold towards her. This usually happened when Michelle was being a bit overtly affectionate or teasing. Abigail was quite bewildered by it all, for she could swear that the look in Arthur's eyes was not one of disgust or concern, but of strong passion. She didn't understand why the look in his eyes didn't reflect his actions.

What really saddened Abigail was the deflated look on Michelle's face when he would act in such a way. She would always seem confused and a little hurt, and Arthur would never seem to notice. Abigail wished she could do something, but she had no idea what she could possibly do to be of help. After all, she didn't know either of them as well as all that.

**...**

Michelle plopped down into one of the chairs and huffed. She was so angry at the moment, she could have punched the wall and she wouldn't have felt a thing. Honestly. There were times when she just didn't understand that man…

Things had been wonderful. After Arthur had come home for a long stay for the first time in several years, life had commenced as peacefully as it had done before. The two of them spent time together; they both conducted business in the mornings and had the afternoons and the evenings to themselves. It was all so pleasant, and they were both happy… Or so she had thought. Michelle couldn't begin to imagine what had occurred to change that.

She began replaying the past week's events in her head. Perhaps it had all gone downhill when she noticed Arthur's particular way of stiffening up when she tried to wrap her arms around him. He wouldn't kiss her either. It was as if he didn't want her advances, but he was afraid to tell her so. He had even taken to sleeping in the guest room's bed of late. Michelle missed the warmth he gave when he was beside her.

Her eyes began to sting and she wrapped her arms around herself tightly, curling up in the chair. Why was Arthur acting that way? Was he angry at her? Had she done something to upset him? Perhaps the pressure of so many wars had taken a toll on him, or maybe… Michelle's eyes widened.

Could it be possible that he was growing tired of her?

Tears pooled in her eyes. The last thing she wanted was for him to be tired of her! She didn't think she would be able to bear it.

"Oh, there you are…"

Michelle immediately stifled the tears as best as she could as Arthur walked into the room.

"You ran off so quickly, I couldn't distinguish where you went."

She just frowned up at him. Seeing her expression, he began to honestly look worried.

"Is something the matter?"

She rolled her eyes and responded, "If you have to ask, I don't think I'm going to tell you."

"Don't give me that! There's nothing I can do if you don't tell me what's wrong!"

Michelle shot to her feet and stood nose to nose with him. That was a bit of a feat, too, considering that she was a few inches shorter than him.

"What-"

"If I kissed you right now, what would you do?" she asked. She watched as the tips of his ears began turning red.

"If you… Now what kind of question is that?" he exclaimed.

"You heard me," she answered quietly. "Now are you going to answer me?"

He didn't say a thing. He was instead trying to conjure up a smart reply, but before could think of a witty repartee to break the awkwardness, Michelle backed away.

"Ugh, forget it," she muttered. "You're hopeless."

Arthur watched in utter confusion as Michelle turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

_Good lord, _he thought. He sat down in the chair and rested his chin in his hands.

Why couldn't he come up with a good answer? He knew exactly what he would have done if she had kissed him. The problem was he was afraid Michelle wouldn't have understood. Controlling himself was becoming harder and harder to do, and being away at war had stoked the fire that had been slowly burning inside of him.

If he were to be honest with himself, that fire, these frustrating desires, all of it had begun on that morning in 1839. The morning after sleeping with Emma, he had realized that all throughout the night he had thought of only one person: Michelle. After that, his mind would begin to wonder what it would have been like if it had been Michelle in bed with him instead of Emma…

He had kept those thoughts and desires hidden, however, up until those long years separated from her. Being at war away from loved ones left many longing for company and Arthur was one of them. He could not deny the lonesome nights when his mind would wander and he would begin thinking about Michelle in ways he knew weren't exactly … honorable. He hadn't seen much of her unclothed, save for the time he had to unlace her corset, (and also there was the sight of her in a nightdress later on), so he would begin to imagine things for himself.

And now? Now he was back, safe and sound, and she was within his reach. He could take her, and fully make her his. But something was holding him back. He knew France hadn't bedded her. She had been too young, even for him, and other than France, Michelle had no real close connections with anyone else, save Arthur himself. He was afraid to go barreling recklessly into the sexual intimacy he wanted before knowing Michelle fully understood it all. Because of all this, he realized he was probably coming off as rather cold to the woman he loved. He couldn't help it. Knowing she was sleeping next to him in nothing more than a nightgown at night was too tempting for him to handle. Even holding and caressing her was hard to do without going further. Now, getting around to discussing it with her was something he was trying to figure out how to do.

**…**

"I don't understand you!" he exclaimed in yet another argument with Michelle. Lately, the both of them had begun squabbling over petty things with deeper troubles obviously behind each dispute.

"You've been acting so irrationally disagreeable lately!"

"Well, you haven't exactly been easy to live with either!" Michelle retorted. "Why have you been avoiding me lately?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered. He began to turn away. She was getting too close.

"Arthur? Wait! Please…"

She grabbed his shirtfront to pull him back. Of course, that sent him panicking. She was now getting _extremely _too close. He grabbed her upper arms and tried to push her away without being too rough.

"Please let go!" he exclaimed.

"I wasn't finished talking to you!" she responded.

What commenced next was a bit of a comical looking push-me-pull-you war between the two of them.

"Would you let go?!"

"No! You answer my questions!"

"For heaven's sake, woman!"

Arthur soon got the upper hand of the little tiff. To both of their surprise, he pushed her up against the wall. She continued to grasp his shirt, but was now quite silent. Arthur felt his breathing quicken. Did she always smell so divine? His heart rammed in his chest and chills ran down his spine. He watched as her lids drooped and her lips parted slightly. This was becoming too tempting.

"Please," he murmured, clenching his fists. "I… I can't do this right now. Just give me some time…"

Even as he said this, he leaned in close with his mouth inches from hers. At the last minute, however, he pulled away and walked out of the room, cursing to himself all the while.

Michelle let out a breath she had been holding and slid down to the floor, immensely confused.

"_Can't do this right now?" Give him time? What is he talking about?_

For the next few days, the awkward tensions in the household did not let up. Arthur was continuing to be confusing and evasive, still trying to find a way to explain his frustrations to Michelle. All the while, she was getting angrier and angrier. Both were becoming more and more aggravated with each other and with themselves. Soon, it was not just Arthur who avoided Michelle. Michelle did the same thing.

It was during this time that Henri decided to pay them quite the untimely visit. What he found upon arrival was a rather disheartened Arthur pouring over a newspaper with smoke rings floating above him from his pipe.

"Hello, there, Arthur!"

The man peered over the paper. "Oh. Hello, Henri."

Henri blinked. "How… are you?" He walked up to the chair and leaned down at Arthur over the paper.

"Oh, all right, I suppose."

"Where's Michelle?"

At the sound of that name, Arthur slowly lowered the paper and took a deep draw from his pipe. An irritated look was on his face.

"Upstairs," he said shortly.

Henri raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"What has occurred?" he asked. He could tell something was amiss.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come now, Arthur. I can tell something is wrong. Michelle is upstairs in the middle of the day, and you're down here. There's gotta be something that's bothering you both!"

Arthur sighed, passed a hand over his eyes and said, "Well… she and I have had a bit of a falling out."

Henri gave him a deadpanned look. "Oh really?" he said dryly.

"She's been acting so different lately! She's become extremely temperamental and distant!" Arthur threw the paper down. "Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to deal with someone like that?"

Henri just stared at Arthur and mentally shook his head.

_Does he not realize that he acts the exact same way at times?_

"It is my fault," he heard Arthur say quietly. "I'm fully aware of that." The Brit looked down at the pipe he now held in his hands.

"How so?" Henri queried. He sat down on the sofa.

"I've been meaning to tell her… something. I just haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Well," Henri sighed, "you know, if you have something you need to tell her, and it's causing a riff between you both, I'd say just tell her what's on your mind!"

Arthur didn't say anything in reply. He just turned the pipe around in his hands.

"In the meantime," Henri continued, "I'm gonna go see how Michelle is doing."

He rose, patted Arthur on the shoulder, and headed upstairs while Arthur just heaved a frustrated sigh and began refilling his pipe.

Michelle was sitting in her room, trying her hardest to focus on the contents of the book she held in her hands, when she heard a soft knock on the door. Her heart leaped wildly in her chest at the thought that it could be Arthur wanting to talk to her. She slowly opened the door, wide-eyed, only to swallow down disappointment at the sight of her brother.

"Henri!" she said, doing her best to sound happy.

"Good afternoon, Michelle," he kindly answered. At a quick glance, Henri could tell that Michelle was just as troubled as Arthur.

"Mind if I come in?" he inquired. She nodded and opened the door wider. Henri walked in and plopped down onto the bed with a sweet smile. Amused, Michelle sat on the bed's edge next to him.

"So what brings you here?"

"Well, at first it was to just pay you both a visit, but now, I want to know what the matter is. You both seem to be fighting."

Immediately her expression fell. She looked away and shrugged.

"It's just… you know… a little squabble, that's all."

"That's _all? _It looks like more than a _little _squabble from where I'm standing!"

Michelle remained quiet.

"Look," Henri persisted, "you know if something is wrong you can tell me about it! I'm your brother, after all!"

It only took a few minutes until Michelle finally broke down. She began sniffling a little, and then suddenly raised her head and began to bawl her eyes out. Henri jumped back a little out of surprise and winced. He hadn't expected such an extreme reaction.

"Uh… ah… Michelle!"

She just continued to sit on the bed's edge and cry. All Henri could think to do was to wrap his arms around her and pull her to him.

"I – I'm sorry! I didn't know you were so -"

"He's so cruel!" she wailed. "Every time I try to hold him, he pushes me away! When I try to talk to him, he won't even look at me!"

Henri's eyes decidedly widened.

"Seriously?" he muttered. He wondered what had caused such a change.

"I don't even know what I did!" she continued. "Am I disgusting to him now? Is he tired of me? I'm so confused, Henri! And he says _he _doesn't understand _me!_"

_Oh dear, _he thought. He tried to console her by stroking her hair.

"Did you ask him why he's acting like this?"

She sniffled and after taking a couple breaths, answered with a quiet, "No."

"Hmm. Well, if I may go out on a limb here, sister, I would say you should just go and tell him how you're feeling right now. Ask him what's going on."

"But we hardly speak to each other now!"

"_Make _him talk to you!" Henri exclaimed. "Or… I could talk to him, if you want. I don't want you to continue feeling like this!"

But Michelle just shook her head. "No, Henri."

"What do you mean 'no'? I can help out! Maybe if there's someone else around to monitor things…"

But Michelle grabbed his arm in protest. "No, I'll talk to him. I will."

"All right," he sighed. "I wish there was something I could do, though."

She patted his hand. "You are doing something. I feel a little better now." She gave him a wobbly smile and wiped away her tears.

"Good." Henri rose from the bed and smiled down at her. "I honestly don't think that he is disgusted with you, though. I mean, I don't know Kirkland _very _well, but to me he seems like the kind of fellow who doesn't show his feelings easily. He might be just as hurt as you are right now. Just talk to him, all right?"

She nodded and it was plain to see that she was thinking things over. She sat straighter up on the bed.

"You have a point," she finally said. "I should have thought of that."

"So are you going to be all right?' Henri asked to reassure himself.

"Don't worry," she said firmly. "Everything will be all right. Thank you for visiting, Henri. You've cheered me up considerably."

He leaned down and gave her a hug in reply. His visit lasted for a little while longer, but he didn't overstay his welcome. He knew both Arthur and Michelle had things to work out.

* * *

Thus it was that a day later, Michelle had made up her mind about what to say to Arthur. She was going to go right up to him and ask him if he felt any differently toward her. At the moment, she could see him sitting out on the terrace reading a book. She could also see some wisps of smoke drifting up above his head in the form of little, wobbly rings. He had taken to smoking a pipe ever since he had returned from the war, and she thought it was kind of cute (though she wouldn't dream of telling him that. She didn't think he would like being called "cute"). She didn't mind the smell of the tobacco either, and was just glad that it wasn't cigarettes or even a cigar.

Michelle took a deep breath.

_I can do this. I can't stand avoiding him any longer._

Wringing her hands together, she slowly walked out the door and onto the terrace. The sound of the waves could be heard in the distance and she saw a couple of birds flying up high in the sky. With one last deep breath, she walked up next to his chair.

"A-Arthur?"

The man quickly removed the pipe from his mouth and at the sight of her, jumped to his feet, surprised.

"Ah, Michelle!" He quickly set the book aside as well as the pipe, laying them on a small table next to his chair. Nervously, he rubbed his hands together.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Well, everything was going well so far…

"N-no… I just … wanted to ask you something…"

"Oh really?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Actually, um, I – I wanted to ask you something as well."

"Well, do you mind if I go first?"

"Oh, of course! Yes! Do you… do you want to sit down?" Arthur gestured toward the chair on the opposite side of the small table.

"No. It will be easier if I stand…"

A part of her wished she hadn't said that. Now he would probably feel utterly confused as to why she wanted to stand instead of sit next to him. Would he think she was nervous or even afraid to sit next to him?

_You can't worry about that now, _she scolded herself. _You need to talk to him._

"Oh, all right. I'm going to sit, though, if you don't' mind," he said. Still obviously nervous, he sat back down and looked up at her expectantly. "Well. What is it you want to talk about?"

Michelle continued to wring her hands and stared out past the house for a moment.

"Um, well, I want to ask you something, and I want you to be completely honest with me."

His voice was quiet when he answered, "All right."

"Good. Well," she turned and looked him straight in the eyes. "I want to ask you, did I… do something to make you angry with me?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I mean… is there something that I did to make you upset or disgusted? I want to know."

"Why would you ever think that?" he exclaimed.

"Because!" She cried. "You've treated me so coldly for the past couple of weeks! You won't hold me, you moved rooms… You wouldn't even _look _at me when we talked at times!" Tears began pooling in her wide eyes. She hadn't wanted to cry, but thinking back to the past couple of weeks left her emotional.

Arthur stared at her as she continued.

"And then you told me that there was something you wanted to say, but you couldn't yet, and I was just afraid that you were mad at me, or that you were tired of me and you were trying to find a way to tell me so. I just… If you are tired of me, just tell me!"

A pair of hands grabbed her by the arms and Michelle was pulled down onto Arthur's lap. She sniffled and rubbed her nose as Arthur framed her face with his hands.

"I am so sorry, darling," he said in a voice a couple of octaves lower than was normal. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean for you to think any of that."

She looked at him and wrapped her fingers around his wrists.

"Really?" she whimpered.

"Of course. I could never be tired of you Michelle, and yes, there is something I want to tell you, but it has nothing to do with being angry at you. I am not disgusted or angry or tired of you. I promise. I'm sorry for making you feel this way."

She sniffed, but her face brightened considerably. She gave him a small relieved smile and he smiled back.

"Forgive me?" he asked, wiping her tears away.

She nodded and her smile widened.

Arthur felt his stomach flutter. _Hang it all, _he thought. _It can't do any harm to kiss her._

He pulled her towards him and she willingly accepted his advances. The kiss started tenderly enough, but soon considerably deepened. Arthur tilted his head a little to get a better angle and Michelle let go of his wrists to wrap her arms around his neck. He in turn, ran his hands up and down along her back, trying to feel every curve through the folds of her dress.

They briefly separated to catch their breath, and Arthur began trailing kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Michelle, a bit surprised, clutched the back of his shirt and tilted her head up. This was new. The feeling of his lips against her skin sent a whole new set of reactions through her body. Her heart was beating violently and she emitted a little gasp when he gently nibbled loose skin above her collarbone.

His hands became more explorative as they drifted down past her hips and along her thighs. He soon was low enough to feel bare skin and he slid his hands underneath the skirt of her dress. It slowly began hiking upwards. A small warning ran through his brain that he was getting a little too intimate. Should he stop? He didn't want to. This felt way too good, and he was delighted to find that she was actually responding positively. He liked the smoothness of her legs and the sound of her heavy breathing in his ear. As his lips traveled lower down her neck, he was frustrated to find that the front of her dress was in the way. He brought his hands up to toy with the back of her dress.

Michelle closed her eyes and ran her hands through his hair. She wasn't sure what Arthur was about to do, but she trusted him and enjoyed the way his touch affected her. She shifted so that she was straddling him now and tilted his head up so that she could kiss him again. She suddenly felt the back of her dress loosen and felt his cool fingers caress her back.

Michelle decided to pull away at that moment to look at him.

"Arthur," she breathed.

He looked at her for a moment, but then his eyes widened and a panicked look came over his face. Before she could say anything, he grabbed her by the waist, picked her up, plopped her down on the chair almost like a ragdoll and stood away from the chair, wildly staring at her.

"_Good lord," _he gasped. _I can't believe I almost…_

Michelle just stared up at him, confused. Now that her dress was partly undone in the back, the front began slipping down her shoulders.

"Arthur? What is it?"

His hand began to shake. "I'm sorry," he whispered. His face, which had paled, now had red splotches. He averted his gaze from her bare upper chest.

"You don't have to be -"

"I need a drink," he muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck.

Michelle began to rise out of the chair. "Do you want me to -"

"No!" He held his hand out. "No, no. You just sit there, darling. I'm sorry. I… I need to think about … things."

He began heading back into the house, but suddenly rushed back to the chair she still sat in.

"This has nothing to do with you, though, all right? I just need to think… about myself… for a little while!"

She gave him a reassuring smile, though she still didn't understand. "All right, Arthur."

He nodded and headed back inside to get a drink and to seriously ponder about what he had just done.

Michelle, in the meantime, was left more confused than ever.

**…**

Arthur gulped down another shot of brandy and emitted a quiet groan. What had just happened? Did he nearly seduce her just a few minutes ago? No, he reasoned with himself. Not seduced. She seemed to have enjoyed it, and as for himself? Good heavens, he hadn't felt such intensity since Lord knows when. It almost frightened him.

Almost.

He wanted more of it: more of the smooth skin, her hands in his hair, gripping it slightly. He wanted to hear her gasp in delight again, and cry out his name in ecstasy. Arthur gripped his glass in desperation. The fact that he was able to elicit such reactions from Michelle sent delightful chills up and down his spine. Then his eyes widened. He had been planning on discussing certain things with her today! When she had approached him earlier, he had been inwardly excited. He was going to explain everything to her right then and there, until she had hit him broadside with her fears.

He couldn't believe how ridiculous he'd been acting the past several weeks. No wonder Michelle thought he was upset with her! What had he been thinking?

"Enough," he muttered. "I am going to talk to her tomorrow. I cannot bear this restraint any longer!"

Had he noticed the figure of a certain washer woman hovering near the door, he would have been far less open with his inner emotions.

* * *

The good lady Mrs. Connors headed up the stairs and in the direction of the room of the young mistress, or so she liked to call Michelle. And while Michelle tried to get Abigail Connors to call her only by her first name, the lady would not.

"It just don't sit well with me, Miss," she would say. "Begging your pardon, but I would prefer just callin you by that title."

And so it stuck. Arthur was Mister Kirkland, Michelle was "the young mistress," and Abigail Connors found that being under their employ was one of the easiest jobs she had ever had. The two of them gave her ample freedom and only asked that she help a little around the house and help cook. She had even given cooking tips to the young mistress on occasion! It surprised her how lax they were with her amount of services. She was even allowed the weekends off!

Mrs. Connors liked Mister Kirkland well enough. He was a pleasant man, though she saw he had a temper. Even so, he was entirely devoted to the young mistress, and it amused Abigail greatly, since he seemed like the kind of man who didn't allow himself to fall in love easily. Being a woman who had loved and lost, she could tell when two people formed an attachment, and it was plain to see that her two employers loved each other with all their souls. But as she had noticed from the moment Arthur had returned, things between them were not always peaceful. Just a few weeks ago, there had been an argument that started between them (for whatever reasons. She didn't dream of prying,) and it had just seemed to end. The two had made up quite well, she had noticed. She had accidentally spotted them embracing on the terrace the other day, and had quickly headed in the other direction.

It was now a day later and Abigail Connors hoped that this recent development meant that life in the house would lighten up a bit. With the morning mail at hand, she lightly knocked on Michelle's door.

"Oh! Good morning, Abigail!" Michelle said brightly in opening her bedroom door.

"Good morning, young mistress. Are you well?"

Michelle gave her a pleasant smile. "I am. Thank you! You are too, I hope?"

"Yes, miss. Thank you. A letter came for you."

"Oh!" Michelle happily took the letter and thanked Abigail.

"It's from Alice!" she said quietly, as she studied the envelope.

Abigail watched as Michelle quickly broke the seal and opened the letter. As she perused its contents, Abigail stood by the door, wondering if she should stay behind to make sure the young lady didn't need anything further. Suddenly, Michelle looked up from the letter and headed towards her bedroom window.

As she looked out of it, she said, "Abigail, can I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course, mistress."

"You… you have been in love, I'm sure…"

Abigail had a gentle smile on her face. "Yes indeed. I was married for five years."

"So… I'm supposing the two of you kissed and … more?"

The lady raised her eyebrows in mild surprise while Michelle gave her a sheepish smile.

"Well, yes of course. We loved each other very much. May I ask what brought this up?"

"I'm just a bit confused about something," Michelle said quietly.

"Mister Kirkland."

"Yes." Michelle gave a small laugh and shrugged. "Something happened… And he seemed very uncomfortable about it. But…" A far-off look came over her face. "But I want it to happen again… I've never experienced such…"

She suddenly stopped and sighed. "I'm not making much sense, probably."

Abigail just smiled. She, in fact, did know what Michelle was talking about due to the fact that she had accidentally saw the two lovers together the previous day.

"Have the two of you shared intimacy?" she asked. She inwardly winced right afterwards, hoping that the question hadn't been too bold.

Michelle didn't seem to mind. Her face fell and she shook her head.

"Do you want to?"

It took her a minute to answer. "I… I think so. I've never… I mean…"

Abigail nodded understandingly and Michelle continued.

"But… when he touched me yesterday, and the way he kissed me… I think I do want to. I do know that I want to… to touch him like that and kiss him … like that…"

Abigail understood. "Perhaps you should tell him about these desires?" she suggested.

"I want to!" Michelle interjected. "Believe me, I do! It's just that… He seems so uncomfortable. I don't know if he would want such intimacy. Sometimes I cannot tell what he is thinking." She sounded frustrated now.

"Well, my dear," Abigail said, "if he has touched and kissed you in such a way, there is a major probability that he does want to do more than just that. It reminds me of when my husband and I…"

Abigail's face reddened and she laughed.

"I… I'm a bit embarrassed. I usually don't talk about such things."

Michelle took her hands and squeezed them. "Don't worry. You needn't say any more. Abigail," she gave the lady a warm hug, "thank you for listening."

"It is my pleasure, as always, young mistress. I hope that everything works out for you both."

Michelle nodded and Abigail took her leave. Once she was gone, Michelle sat down on her bed and perused the letter she had received from Alice once more.

_My dear Michelle,_

_ I am pleased to know that Mrs. Connors is doing a good job. She is a wonderful woman and I knew she would be the perfect person to help you and my silly brother from letting things fall apart in that house of yours. I'm jesting when I refer to you, of course, dear. But Arthur really can be ridiculous sometimes. He is not one to keep a house well-cleaned._

_ From your last letter, I judge that something has happened between the two of you. I apologize for that imbecile. You really must excuse him, though. Arthur really is a decent fellow. He just doesn't know how to express his emotions well at times. If one thing goes awry or drastically changes, he bottles up and you cannot get a word out of him until he decides to come to you himself and tell you what is bothering him. Granted, that may take a long while. I remember when we were children and I secretly replaced our pet rabbit when the old one died. He was so confused and horrified that I would do such a thing without him knowing that he wouldn't talk to me for weeks! Finally, I just beat the words out of him and he finally told me what the matter was._

_ Oh dear, but it irks me quite a bit to read that his silly ways are hurting you. Don't let his reserve fool you, darling. The man is mad for you. He's probably just confused and a bit frightened about how much he feels for you, so he's putting you at arm's length. My advice to you is to just be open. Tell him what is on your mind, and make him tell you why he is acting so foolishly. You have some of that blasted Frenchman's habits in you. It shouldn't be too hard to get a response out of him._

_ I swear. You would think that after years of fraternizing with other countries, he wouldn't be so awkward about such things! It must really mean that you are very important to him. I hope things turn out well and that you are happier when I receive your next letter!_

_Your Friend,_

_Alice Kirkland_

Michelle shook her head and sighed with an amused smile on her face. She kept hearing the same thing about how to deal with Arthur: just to tell him straight out what she was thinking and what she wanted. With Alice's words and Abigail's reassurances, Michelle knew exactly what she was going to do about that man. She folded up the letter and stored it in a drawer.

Throughout the rest of the day, the awkwardness levels were extremely high. It was the weekend, so Abigail would be able to go home after she finished her work for the day. And all day long, she prayed that the hour would come quick, because with the way her two employers were acting, she could only tiptoe around the house out of fear that one major slipup would send the two into some sort of breakdown.

For one thing, they kept looking at each other strangely, looking quickly away when their eyes met. If one of them began talking over the other, they both would halt and uncomfortably ask the other to finish speaking. One brush against the other and both would jump away and stutter out an apology. Abigail almost felt like either smacking them upside the head or locking them up in a room together.

They both wanted to talk to each other, both having something very important (and similar) to say to the other, but Michelle didn't know where to start and Arthur did a good job at always finding some reason to keep his emotions bottled up. It made Abigail want to just forcefully grab them and knock their heads together.

_It's like having to deal with two overgrown children, _she though while sweeping. _I cannot wait until I can get out of here. Perhaps if they are alone together, they will resolve their problems…_

It turned out that she wasn't too far off from the truth. Once the dinner had come and gone and Abigail was able to pack her small satchel, put on her cloak, and bid the two a good night, Michelle began setting her plan in motion. She sat in the common room with Arthur, who was doing a darn good job at immersing himself in his book. After a minute or two, she sighed and sat straighter up in her chair.

"So," she said, looking over at him, "is that a good book?"

"Oh… um…" Arthur peered at the pages. "Yes… well…" He chuckled. "Do you know, I can't remember a single word I have just read?"

His chuckles faded away as they held eye contact.

"Singular…isn't it?" he muttered.

She gave him a small smile. "It is indeed."

He shut the book with a definitive _snap! _Setting it aside, he leaned forward toward her.

"Michelle…"

"Well!" she exclaimed suddenly. "I feel rather tired. I think I'm going to bed."

His expression fell. He looked a bit disheartened.

"Of course. Good night, then."

"Good night, Arthur," she said sweetly.

His glanced followed her as she headed upstairs, unabashedly watching the gentle sway of her hips.

"Pleasant dreams," he muttered.

**…**

Later on that night, Michelle took a deep breath to control herself as she finished the last touches on her braided hair. Looking through a mirror in the bedroom, she gave herself a determined nod and headed out of the room to the guest bedroom.

She didn't bother to knock. She knew Arthur wasn't in bed yet, for she could see the flicker of the oil lamp through the door's crack. Upon opening the door, she saw Arthur sitting in an armchair, still reading. He really must not have gotten far in it earlier, as he had hinted. When she entered the room, he looked up and she saw his eyes flicker with surprise, but neither of them said anything. She merely headed over to the small vanity table and sat down at it. Then, slowly with over-emphasized care, she began unweaving the braid, all the while glancing at Arthur through the mirror every couple of seconds. She knew he enjoyed seeing her with her hair down, so she figured she would catch his attention. It turns out, her plan worked, for Arthur unabashedly stared at her through the mirror. His book now sat in his lap and his green eyes glittered in the dim light. Michelle combed her fingers through her long, black hair and it slowly fell down her back in soft waves.

"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur asked quietly.

She stopped fiddling with her hair and turned around, elegantly draping her hair over one shoulder. With a gentle smile, she stood up and sashayed toward his chair. Then she knelt down in front of him and took one of his hands.

"Arthur," she answered in a hushed voice, "I want to be with you. I don't want to be separated from you anymore. I mean, we've been fighting and avoiding each other for the past couple of weeks, and I'm tired of it. You told me you were not mad or tired of me, and I'm not angry at you, but even after yesterday, things haven't changed… So, what is the problem?"

He looked at her for a minute or two, and then looked down at their hands. He squeezed hers and sighed. Finally, he'd be able to come out and say it.

"There is no real problem. I was just being irrational. I didn't want to get too close for fear that I might lose self-control and do… certain things that you weren't ready for…"

"'Certain things'?" she queried.

"I feel like I've been treating you like you're still a child. I know you're not, but… you are still inexperienced in matters of intimacy…"

Her eyes widened and her heart began beating quicker. Could he mean…

"Arthur…"

"Michelle, the last thing I want to do is hurt you, or cause you to distrust me."

She leaned in closer. It was all beginning to make sense now.

"Do you… Do you want to make love to me?" she asked.

They both stared at each other, wide-eyed, until Arthur looked away.

"The way you say it…" he muttered. "You're quite blunt."

Michelle scoffed amusedly. "How would you like me to say it?" she asked dryly.

"I don't know! I just…"

"I could say it in French, if you would like?"

He ignored the shiver that ran through him. "That won't be necessary."

She smirked. "No, really! Here, you know some French… How about if I say this…"

Michelle leaned in and whispered a few things in his ear that left him quite flustered. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her away.

"I say! What's come over you all of a sudden!" he exclaimed. Though deep down, he was enjoying it.

"Be honest with me, Arthur!" she cried, resting her arms on his knee and leaning toward him. "_Do_ you want to make love to me?"

"I -"

"Because you know, I am not a little girl. I know what that entails!"

"Yes, I know that, but -"

She sat back and folded her arms. "We don't have to if you don't want to."

"I didn't say that I -"

This was becoming too much fun for her. She stood and tossed her head.

"Well, all right. If that's how you feel about it…"

She had attempted the desired effect on him. He was now riled up.

"_Damn you, _you blasted woman!" he growled. He rushed out of the chair and pulled her into his arms. She did her best to mask her surprise and smiled at him.

"What? Changed your mind, have you?"

"I shall confess that I have wanted to make love to you for a long while now."

He saw her glance soften. She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued.

"I was just afraid that I would shock you, or even harm you. It is not very easy for me to speak about such things… and I have wanted to do so for a good while now. At last I can finally say it," his voice rumbled. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she clutched the front of his shirt.

_"I want you."_

Michelle visibly swallowed. She was both nervous and exhilarated.

"You could have just told me. I am not a china doll. I won't break."

His breath caught. "Then I can…?"

"Oh, I wish you would," she answered.

"And you won't… be frightened, will you?"

She shook her head. "I trust you, Arthur."

Suddenly, all those days of worrying and turmoil seemed utterly foolish to Arthur as he dipped his head down to press his lips against hers. The past several weeks had been so pointless! He wasn't back at home, with a young, naïve English woman. He was on the Seychelles islands, with a young woman who was raised by a Frenchman. He should not have underestimated Michelle as much as he had done.

_Although, _he reminded himself, _she is still probably inexperienced. I have to be gentle._

Michelle ran her hands up his chest until they rested on the back of his neck and she pressed her body closer against his. They remained like this for a few minutes until she suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to slip her hands under his shirt so she could feel his bare skin. She quickly took hold of the shirt near his belt and began pulling it up until it was freely hanging loose. She sighed against his lips and began caressing his back.

Arthur wanted to taste more of her. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, which caused her lips to part a little wider, gaining him access inside her mouth. He heard her emit a little moan as he brushed his tongue against hers, and he tightened his hold on her as if out of desperation. He ran his fingers through her hair followed by traveling them down her back, across her arms, and finally down to her backside. Michelle felt her whole body heat up, and she knew she had to break the kiss for a moment so she could catch a breath. It only lasted a minute however, as Arthur greedily closed the gap again. She was just so delectable and soft. The more he tasted and felt her, the more he hungered. He had noticed upon her arrival in this room that she was wearing merely a loosely-fitted nightgown, and he was definitely going to take advantage of that.

But first…

"Michelle," he breathed, pulling apart for a moment.

"Hmm…?" she murmured, their mouths only inches apart.

"This just won't do."

That made her open her eyes. "What?"

He smirked, went over to a nearby desk and turned down the oil lamp. He then took hold of her hand and led her out of the room, heading for the master bedroom. Upon entering, he quickly shut the door and pulled Michelle to him again.

"This is much better," he said huskily.

She chuckled and began unbuttoning his shirt while he leaned in to drag his mouth down her neck and over her collarbone. Soon, his shirt fluttered down to the floor and Arthur shivered at the feeling of her cool fingers brushing over his skin. He brought his hands around to her back and began carefully unlacing the stays of her nightgown. It began slipping down her shoulders and Michelle froze.

"A-Arthur…"

He paused, bringing his head up to look her in the eyes. "May I?" he whispered. "I'd like to see you…"

She took a deep breath and nodded. Soon, the gown lay bunched around her ankles and Michelle pursed her lips together out of nervousness. She clutched his arms and shot a shy glance up at him. The impassioned look of desire in his eyes left her shaking.

"You're… you're not disappointed or anything, are you?" she whispered.

He framed her face in his hands and gently tilted her head upward so she would look at him.

"Disappointed? You're beautiful, Michelle," he said.

Her breathing quickened and she felt her stomach flutter as he proceeded to cover her body in light kisses.

She wasn't very tall, and didn't have as many curves as some other women, but Arthur found her positively ravishing, calling her names like, "goddess," "siren," and even "Diana" a couple of times as he brushed his lips against her sternum, breasts and stomach. Then, with quick movements, he swept her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed. Once her head hit the pillows and he was above her, she leaned up to kiss his neck, imitating his previous advances. She could hear him panting as he continued exploring her body. Her heavy breathing mixed with his.

Suddenly she heard, "I can't take this anymore," followed by clinking of metal. Arthur was no longer above her and she sat up to see a pair of black trousers dangling over the bedside. They both studied each other for a minute quietly, and Michelle smiled at him when he reached out to stroke her cheek.

"Oh, Arthur," she whispered. She took his hand in both of hers.

"Don't even think about saying that I'm beautiful," he responded amusedly. The last thing he thought of himself was beautiful. He was not built like Germany, nor was he as handsome as France. Even America boasted an admirable physique now that Arthur never had. There he was, short, scrawny and angular. A small, annoying part of him nibbled away at his ego, thinking he wasn't worthy of this beautiful young woman.

She just shook her head. "Whether you are considered beautiful or not by others Arthur, I think you are, and I love you."

She kissed his palm gently, and Arthur leaned in to rest his forehead against hers.

"I love you too," he answered. "This whole relationship that has happened between the two of us was incredibly unexpected, I must admit…"

A sweet smile came over her face. "Yes, I know! I wasn't expecting this either."

"But I know I will never regret it, darling." He kissed her tenderly. "You are one of the most wonderful people I've met."

She just amusedly shook her head and returned his kiss, scooting closer to wrap her arms around his neck. With gentle urgency, Arthur slowly began pushing her back down in a lying position on the bed, continuing to cover her entire body in kisses and tender caresses, with even gentle bites now and then. Her heart beat wildly as she relished every touch from him. She gasped for air and her back arched in pleasure.

"Arthur, please…" she groaned. His heart began racing. He understood her plea, and positioned himself above her. He knew he was the one leading and she was the one following.

"If you ever want me to stop, dearest," he whispered, "just tell me and I will."

Michelle took a deep breath and nodded. She reached up to wrap her arms around his back as he leaned in between her legs. What happened next was hard to explain for her. It was a rush of both pleasure and pain at the same time. The things he made her feel and do left her breathless and wanting more.

"Michelle…" he murmured in her ear.

She whimpered and dug her nails into his back. It stung a little, but Arthur ignored the feeling, burying his face in her hair. He whispered her name several times, and repeated his love and devotion to her in her ear.

When the lovemaking came to an end, they lay beside each other, catching their breaths. Arthur turned to her and reached over to brush his knuckles against her cheek.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

She slowly exhaled and closed her eyes. Suddenly, she felt quite tired, and she made no resistance when he pulled her into his arms. Arthur kissed her forehead and then rested his chin against the top of her head. He felt her lips press against his Adam's apple, and she murmured,

"I'm fine, Arthur. Just fine…"

Michelle contentedly sighed and nestled into his chest. All of a sudden, Arthur felt Michelle shiver a little, so he pulled the blankets over them and she wrapped her arms around his waist. Now snug and warm in each other's arms, they both soon fell asleep.

* * *

Henri whistled a jaunty tune as he walked up to his sister's home the next morning. It had been a good week or so since he had visited her and Arthur, and he couldn't help but feel concerned about how they were doing.

Meanwhile, Arthur heaved a contented sigh as he rested his head against Michelle's stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes in pleasure when he kissed her thighs.

"It's getting late…" he said.

"Mm hmm..." she hummed absently.

"We should probably get up soon."

A small whine came from the back of her throat and Arthur chuckled.

"Listen, darling, I'm absolutely famished. You don't have to get up, but I think I will so I can get us a bit of something to eat."

She sighed. "If you must."

With that, Arthur sat up, but before rising out of the bed, he bent down to brush a trail of soft kisses starting at her stomach, up her chest and neck to her mouth. She then captured his lips with hers and tugged gently on his lower lip.

"Come on, now," he moaned. "I told you I was going to get up…"

She just let out a chuckle and ran her tongue along his jaw line (something she had caught on to after the previous night), ending at his earlobe, which she began to nibble. It turned out that this was something he was weak towards.

"Michelle…" His voice was less firm than before.

She continued leaving a trail of kisses along his neck, traveling down to his collarbone. After last night, she had more confidence in what she could do for him. She was still a bit naïve and inexperienced, but she was learning how to give him pleasure.

"Last night was wonderful," she whispered.

"Really?"

"Mm hmm."

"You were perfect, by the way," he said.

She scoffed. "How can you say that when it was my first time?"

He smirked. "Well, I certainly enjoyed it. I enjoyed it _immensely_."

Her cheeks actually reddened at that. She shoved him.

"Suddenly I feel quite hungry," she said.

"Oh _really?_ Pray tell, what for?"

"Not _that_, you idiot!" she exclaimed, her face getting even pinker. "Food! I want food!"

He laughed and sat up again. "All right, I will get you something to eat."

She didn't want to look at him, but couldn't help herself as he pulled on the discarded pair of trousers from last night. He also slipped on his shirt before turning back to her.

"You stay right there. Don't move," he ordered.

She frowned and turned over on her side, her face still red. She heard him chuckling, followed by the bedroom door opening and closing shortly thereafter. A smile crept over her features and she buried her face in the pillows.

Arthur headed downstairs (with a little bounce to his step, admittedly) and into the kitchen. Pulling out some plates from a cupboard, he began to consider what they should have for breakfast. That's when suddenly he heard a rapping at the door.

"Come in?" he called. The common room was just around the corner and he could see who entered the house if he craned his neck around.

"Hello! Anybody home?"

It was Henri.

"In the kitchen!" Arthur called back. He wasn't at all surprised when he felt an arm around his shoulders.

"Mornin' Arthur!"

"Good morning, lad. How are you?"

Henri smiled pleasantly and shrugged. "Never better. You know, life is still the same and I'm still doing well."

Arthur actually returned the smile. "That's good to hear, Henri. I'm happy for you." He said this earnestly. He was in such a good mood, that it could have been France or Russia talking to him and he still would have acted pleasantly.

Henri noticed his happy attitude immediately.

"Well, you seem to be doing better since last we met!" he exclaimed.

"I guess you could say that. Tell me, what would you suggest for breakfast?"

"Uh…" A confused look passed over the younger man's face. "Bread, I suppose? Fruit?"

"I think I want some eggs…"

"Oh. Do you want some help…?" Henri queried. He had tasted Arthur's cooking before. And the housekeeper was off for the weekend.

"Oh no. I can handle this."

As Arthur fetched the eggs from the pantry, Henri noticed the lack of a certain presence in the room.

"Where's Michelle?" he asked.

If Arthur didn't have his back turned to Henri, Henri would have caught sight of a very un-Arthur-like smile.

"She's still in bed."

"At this hour? She's usually up very early, even earlier than the both of us!"

He saw Arthur shrug. "She must have been tired," he said.

Henri narrowed his eyes. "All right , then…"

Once again, he didn't catch the smile on Arthur's face.

"So… you're in a good mood, and you didn't freeze up at the sound of my sister's name… I suppose this means the two of you have reconciled?"

Arthur turned to Henri and gave him a rather secretive smirk.

"You could say that."

"Oh." Henri blinked. _I guess I'll just assume that was a yes…?_

Soon the eggs were cooked (and actually looked half-decent, surprisingly!) and Arthur put the food on the table.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked Henri.

"Well… sort of. But I don't want to impose…"

"Nonsense! Michelle would like to see you, I'm sure."

Such a bright attitude from Arthur was really beginning to perturb Henri.

"Well, if you wouldn't mind…"

"I don't mind at all! I'll just go and tell Michelle you are here. Excuse me."

Henri nodded and watched as Arthur headed upstairs. While he was waiting for the two of them, he helped himself to some fruit and a glass of juice. It turned out that he was left waiting for a good ten minutes or so. He was beginning to grow impatient and wondered if he should go upstairs to fetch them both. After all, the food was getting cold!

He heard the sound of feet skipping down the stairs and Michelle came bounding into the kitchen with a bright smile. She wore a light muslin dress with a white floral pattern.

"Henri!" she exclaimed. She bent over her brother and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I'm so happy to see you! It's been a while, hasn't it?"

He knew he shouldn't have been taken aback by her bubbly attitude, but he was. He blinked, leaned away a little and stared at her.

"You're… very happy this morning…" he said slowly.

"Oh! I suppose I am!" she said happily. "Arthur and I are getting along again!"

"Yes…I can tell."

As Michelle sat down at the table and began pouring herself a cup of juice, Henri just watched her.

"Wait a minute…" he suddenly interjected. "Where did Arthur go?"

"He's coming," she answered lightly. Just then, Arthur was heard coming down the stairs and he soon padded into the kitchen.

"I made the eggs," he said, a bit proudly, as he pointed to one of the plates on the table. Michelle widened her eyes and leaned over to sniff the yellow mass of food.

"Hmm, it seems edible enough… I suppose we won't have to worry about being poisoned this morning," she said seriously.

Henri saw Arthur's bright expression darken into an irritated frown.

"Listen, _I_ was the one who decided to get up to make this, even though…" he paused and glanced at Henri. "…Even though I was quite comfortable in bed…"

Michelle covered her mouth and her eyes sparkled at Arthur in silent laughter. Henri was beginning to feel that he had chosen the wrong morning to visit.

"But I decided to get down here and see if I could scrounge up something for both me _and _you to eat! I should think that some thanks are in order!"

"You were the one who wanted to get up and get something to eat in the first place."

"But I could have just made something for myself only. Come now. At least say thank you."

"Well, what are you going to do if I don't?" she purred.

"Umm…" Henri tried to get their attention, but they didn't hear him. His discomfort began to rise even higher when a mischievous smile came over Arthur's face as he leaned down closer to Michelle.

"My dear girl, it would be wise not to toy with me," he said in a lower voice. Michelle only responded with a devious smile of her own.

Henri interrupted this little exchange by clearing his throat quite loudly and the two of them quickly snapped back into reality. They both felt quite embarrassed that they had momentarily forgotten that they weren't alone.

"Just… just try the eggs at least," Arthur muttered.

It turns out that the eggs actually weren't half bad and even Arthur was a bit shocked to find that they were somewhat enjoyable. Even so, despite the fact that the food was actually edible and that Arthur and Michelle carried a good conversation with him during the meal, Henri decided that the best thing to do was to leave shortly thereafter.

He would visit them some other time, when they weren't acting like love struck teenagers.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry. I am soooooooooo sorry. XDD

If this is bad or just ... boring, I'm sorry because what you see is what you get. Someone asked me if I was gonna put a sex scene in here, and I had been thinking about it, but I wasn't going to make this story a rated M flick, so this is all you're gonna get from me. I'm not gonna go into more detail that what's written here.

So... if you think it's bad you can rail on me all you want. I fully understand. XDD

Next chapter will have more of a point besides romance. ;)


	13. Chapter 12: 1903 pt 2

Chapter 12

1903 pt. 2

**_1879_**

_Michelle was nervously waiting on the docks, watching for the coming of one specific ship one morning in September. She had been there since the morning and was feeling more anxious with each passing hour._

_ Finally around half-past noon, a French frigate docked in the harbor and upon seeing it, Michelle began wringing her hands out of worry. It had been a long, several hundred years since she had laid eyes on her former guardian, but he had recently written to her out of the blue asking if he could pay her and Henri a visit. What else could she do but say yes? She still could remember the pleasant times they had spent together, not to mention the time he abandoned her for money all those years ago. After thinking about it, however, she realized that so much had happened since then that she did not feel as resentful as she had felt once._

_ The passengers of the ship began to file down the ramp and onto the dock and Michelle immediately caught sight of the handsome Frenchman. He was clothed in a white jacket and trousers, suitable for traveling to warm climates. Michelle couldn't help but admire the noble way he carried himself and the way his hair was neatly pulled back from his face. Had she been younger or more impressionable, she would have immediately been taken with him. Instead, she found herself comparing him to the less-than-fashionable Englishman, whom many would consider to be far less attractive in comparison to the man who now looked upon Michelle with sparkling, blue eyes._

_ "Ah! Michelle!" Her name elegantly rolled off of his tongue. It sounded quite different than when Arthur said her name. Even so, comparing the two of them, France now seemed too …flamboyant, maybe? Too suave. Michelle found herself liking Arthur's simplicity and directness more and more._

_ Francis strode up to her and she allowed him to embrace her. He planted sweet, chaste kisses upon her cheeks as a greeting and she returned the gesture._

_ "I am very happy to see you again," he said with a gentle smile on his face._

_ Michelle looked away. She suddenly felt shy._

_ "It has been a while, hasn't it… Big Brother."_

_ "Indeed." He chuckled. "Hearing you call me that… I feel quite nostalgic all of a sudden!"_

_ Michelle looked up and had to smile. She was beginning to realize that she had missed this man, despite her changed opinions of him._

_ "Would you like to see my home?"_

_ "Oui! I am quite tired, to tell you the truth."_

_ Michelle nodded, not surprised, and France followed her into town._

_ "We're going to walk. Is that all right?" she queried, looking at him over her shoulder._

_ He nodded. "That is fine. I'm not that tired."_

_ After Michelle had helped him send his luggage to her house ahead of them, she took the Frenchman on a brief tour of the town called Victoria._

_ "Everything's changed so much!" Francis exclaimed. "But all for the better, of course."_

_ "Well, we've worked very hard and been through our share of troubles. I think we've turned out quite well."_

_ "Yes. I have heard what people have been saying about you."_

_ Francis looked on her with warmth. _

_ "They say this place is Heaven on Earth."_

_ She just shook her head. "Really. Some people!" she scoffed._

_ "Well, this is quite a beautiful place, and its representative is no exception."_

_ "All right, just stop there!" She smirked and waved his comments off. "I know you, Francis! And I know I shouldn't let you flatter me for too long," she teased. They had passed through the town now, and had reached the house on the beach._

_ "Let me guess who you've been talking to." Francis smirked in return and folded his arms across his chest. "It was Angleterre, wasn't it?"_

_ He watched as she wistfully smiled and looked away. She opened the door to the house._

_ "He may have said a thing or two…"_

_ "He's just afraid I might charm you into coming back to me as my colony."_

_ She knew he was teasing, so she refrained from any bitter comments._

_ "Speaking of which, how has that little fellow been treating you? He hasn't been neglecting you too much, has he?"_

_ "No. Not at all," she answered quietly._

_ Francis studied her for a moment. She had that wistful smile on her face. Her cheeks were a slight shade of pink._

_**Well, well, well, **__he thought. __**This is interesting…**_

_"Nice place," he said aloud. "You have a lovely spot on the beach."_

_ "Yes, we like it very well."_

_ Francis' eyebrows arched. "__**We?**__"_

_ Her eyes widened. "Uh… We, meaning me and Henri, of course!"_

_ "Oh yes, of course!" Francis laughed and Michelle smiled, looking a bit relieved. As she showed him around the house, he caught certain things lying around the house – like certain books, a spare shaving kit, and one particular set of china that he knew a certain English lady had ordered herself all the way from the Orient – to give him enough hints as to who else was living in the house._

**…**

_ "So tell me, Francis, why did you ask to come here?"_

_ Michelle had offered Francis a decent supper. Together they ate a meal of rice with fish._

_ "Well, I actually came to reconcile," he replied, not bothering to hesitate in telling the truth. Michelle blinked, quite surprised._

_ "Reconcile?" she lamely repeated._

_ "Yes." He set his fork down and reached across the table to lay his hand upon hers._

_ "I know you were confused when England took you away all those years ago. I know you felt anger and resentment. You thought I had abandoned you."_

_ "Francis."_

_ "Not only did I break your heart, but I gave you away. I would be angry at myself too if I was you."_

_ Michelle looked away. _

_ "I was angry," she said quietly. "I felt betrayed. You seemed only to care for money and for yourself. I am still bitter, I will admit."_

_ "Of course, and I am here to ask for your forgiveness. I don't want my little sister mad at me anymore."_

_ She looked up into his eyes and saw that there was no charade. His expression was open and sincere. Michelle smiled._

_ "I do forgive you, Francis," she answered. A real smile full of friendship came over her face. "I mean, had we not parted the way we did, I don't know if I would have…"She stopped._

_ But France seemed to read her mind. "If you would have gotten to known Arthur as well as you do now, is that it?"_

_ She fumbled with her hands and avoided his fixed stare._

_ "I guess you could say that…" she mumbled._

_ Francis just smiled. "You're quite easy to read, chérie. At least your people still seem to speak mainly French. Angleterre hasn't taken over everything, fortunately."_

_ "Well…" Michelle shyly looked at him. "It's not like he lords over me or anything. In fact, his bosses pretty much let my bosses conduct their own affairs."_

_ "Hmm. Well, I suppose that is good. Being constantly watched by someone like him might not be a good thing."_

_ Michelle went quiet at his words. She hadn't thought about things in that way. She had been sad that he was gone; fighting off in a different land over things she didn't know about. But she realized then that Arthur was a representative of a great empire. He had tons of responsibilities and she knew he could be quite harsh at his colonies if he wanted to be. In all truth, she should just be lucky that she had the man himself love her and not treat her as an inferior._

_ "I miss him," she whispered aloud. France looked surprised._

_ "Do you, now?"_

_ Michelle silently nodded. "I will be happy when all this fighting is over and I can see him again… We've been writing letters," she suddenly said happily. Her eyes sparkled._

_ That made Francis smile. Even if it __**was **__England they were talking about, he couldn't help but feel touched at the apparent love on her face._

_ "You really love him, don't you?" he asked._

_ She nodded. "With all my heart," was her quiet response._

_ A look passed over France's face: a look of perhaps longing and regret. But it passed so quickly, Michelle didn't notice it._

_ "Lucky fellow," he said. "Remind me to give him a hard time about it when next I see him."_

_ The two laughed together and Michelle felt relieved. It seemed that she and France would be able to part as friends._

* * *

**1903**

As the morning wore on and people rose to begin another day's work, Michelle slowly opened her eyes only to have the sun shining, peeping through the window curtains, down on her. She heard a deep intake of breath and smiled as Arthur nestled closer into her chest. He had his arm wrapped around her waist and she slowly ran her hands up and down his back, just content to touch him.

Ever since that one night a few weeks ago, the two of them had become closer than before, though they didn't know how that was even possible. Now, they were always looking for ways to feel one another's touch: a fleeting brush of the arm, a quick peck on the lips, or a slight squeeze of the hand; and when they were alone, the time they shared was glorious.

_Why me? _She would sometimes ask as she looked up into his deep, green eyes.

And he would just smile and kiss her. _Because I fell in love with you; with everything about you, _would be his answer.

Her hand traveled up to his head and she ran her fingers through his hair, which elicited another sigh from him. Michelle felt his head shift a little as he turned to kiss her below the collarbone.

"So you are awake," she said quietly, amused.

The only answer she got was a murmur in the affirmative.

"I think it's about time to get up, don't you think?" she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

"Woman, if you dare budge…" His voice trailed off. She knew his feeble threat was hollow.

"What if I told you I had to relieve myself?"

She laughed at the sound of him grumbling.

"Fine. I'm getting up…" he muttered and began to sit up.

"Oh, I was just teasing you, Arthur!" She giggled. She turned on her side and stared up at him happily but he just looked at her dourly.

"I hope you took great enjoyment at my expense. Just for that, I think I really will get up and leave you here."

He stood and began dressing himself for the day as Michelle amusedly watched. It seemed that he was serious. With a small laugh, she jumped out of bed, pulled on a robe and hugged him from behind.

"Aw, don't be angry!" she said playfully.

"Unhand me, you minx."

"No. I think I'm going to cling to you until you're in a better mood again!"

She heard him heave an exasperated sigh. "It was you who put me in a bad mood in the first place!"

She now faced him. "Will a kiss help?"

He stared seriously down at her and folded his arms across his chest, as if really considering that option.

"Perhaps…"

She stood on her toes and gave him a tender, slow kiss. Soon, he cupped her face in his hand and was smiling again.

"Blast. It worked," he said.

She grinned. "I had a feeling it would."

**…**

As the two of them sat at the breakfast table together, Abigail Connors came in smiling, bearing the morning mail. Usually it was Arthur who received most of the mail, but this morning the lady handed one solitary envelope to Michelle.

"Well! I wonder who this could be from!" she exclaimed after Mrs. Connors dismissed herself.

Arthur peered at her past the letter in his hands, watching as she unceremoniously tore open the envelope and read the contents of her letter. After a minute or two, he noticed that a hint of an amused smile came over her. She quickly repressed it and simply laid it down, resuming her meal.

"Well?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "Hmm?"

"Am I allowed to ask who the letter is from?"

She shrugged. "I don't see why not. It's not like it's any big secret. It's from France."

He raised his brows. "Is that so? I didn't know the two of you kept in touch."

"Well, only recently," she admitted, "after he came to see me."

Suddenly Arthur felt suspicion wriggle its way into his heart. "When did he come to see you, exactly?"

She knew this would sound horrible, but she wouldn't lie to him.

"During those years you were away."

He didn't react half as badly as she thought he would. He merely said, "I see," in a quiet voice. She didn't notice, however, how white his knuckles were as he gripped his fork and knife.

Inside, Arthur was seething.

_Just what is he up to? Is he trying to find some way in winning her back? I'll see myself hanged before that happens! And why? If that is his game, why would he try that after all these years of absence in Michelle's life?_

"You don't need to be angry or worried," he heard her say. He looked up at her.

"He only visited because he wanted to ask for my forgiveness. He just wants us to be friends again."

"Really?" He asked.

Michelle nodded. "I promise. There is nothing I see in him any longer. You must believe me."

The earnest look in her eye could not be doubted. Arthur felt more at ease and smiled, taking her hand in his.

"All right. I believe you. I suppose I can see what the man was doing. It was good of him to ask for your forgiveness in person, and truthfully, this is a good place to travel to!"

"Oh, good!" she exclaimed. "I hoped you would understand because… this letter," she held up the paper and Arthur could barely make out the flowing script that had to have come from the hand of Francis Bonnefoy himself, "is him informing me of when he will come and visit me again."

**…**

While Michelle waited at the harbor for France to arrive, Arthur had decided to wait back at the house. It wasn't like he was itching to see the Frenchman anyway. He tried not to think about the hassle that would probably occur in the next couple weeks or so as he opened the morning paper with a definitive **snap! **

_It's only going to be a week or two. I can handle this… Maybe I could feign sickness and ask to not be bothered._

He frowned.

_But then, that would mean leaving Michelle alone with that… that tosser._

It wasn't that he distrusted Michelle. He just didn't trust Francis. With a sigh, he lowered the paper and began filling his pipe. Perhaps some tobacco would calm his nerves. He sat there for a few minutes, just puffing away, until the embers died out. By that time, he heard some chatter and bustling outside, and he recognized the voices of Michelle and their guest. He sighed, put the pipe aside, and picked the newspaper back up. He didn't care if he was being inhospitable. It was only France, after all.

The two of them burst into the house, and Michelle immediately saw the Brit sitting in an armchair, hiding behind a newspaper.

"Arthur!" she exclaimed.

"So you _are _here," Francis said. He smirked. "And you didn't come to welcome me. I'm _so_ hurt." He dramatically laid his hand on his forehead and sighed.

Arthur lowered his paper and glared over it.

"Well, it's not like I was the one who wanted you to come. You're Michelle's guest. Not mine."

"Oh, Arthur!" The lady in question bent over him. "Don't be like that."

"Yes, don't be like that, Arthur. After all, I am partly here for you."

That made Arthur raise an eyebrow. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, after all, I do still consider myself Michelle's big brother, so I decided to check up on her now that I know you've been living here. And if I find out that you've done anything… indecent, shall we say?"  
Francis leaned down, with a smile that looked positively frightening.

"I'll make you eat that newspaper."

"Heh, as if you could," Arthur growled out. He didn't seem to be phased by Francis's threat.

Meanwhile, Michelle watched them nervously. She had hoped something like this wouldn't happen, or at least, not happen right away.

"Um, listen…" she began. At that moment, however, the front door slammed open and Henri came in.

"_Grand frère!" _he exclaimed.

Francis' eyes widened. "Good heavens! Is that Henri? It seems that Michelle isn't the only one who has grown!"

Henri rushed over to Francis' side and the two enveloped each other in a brotherly embrace.

"Did you have a safe trip?" The younger man asked his guardian.

"I did. I'm so happy to see the both of you!" He said, fondly looking at the brother and sister. "It seems that I was right in coming to visit." He glared at Arthur again.

"Really Francis," Michelle spoke up, "it's not like Arthur forces us into hard labor or anything."

"Yes, well I'd like to know why he's taken up residence here. After all, a nation living with their colony…" He looked over at Michelle. "No offence, darling, but this is all highly irregular."

Michelle looked away, glancing every so often at Arthur who merely continued to frown.

"Well, after all, Arthur and Michelle are -"

Henri stopped. He had noticed the look of alarm on his sister's face.

"They are what?"

Henri stared at the three of them, confused.

"You mean… you don't know?" he asked. He stared at Michelle and Arthur. "I thought that she told you about…" Henri's face reddened.

"Maybe I shouldn't say anything else."

"What do you mean?" Francis asked. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he turned to Arthur.

"You!" he growled. With a sweeping gesture, he snatched Arthur up by the collar and shook him roughly.

"What have you done to _ma petite fille!_" he roared. "You've deflowered her, haven't you? You barbaric English pigdog!"

"What are you talking about?" exclaimed Arthur. "I haven't done anything!"

"Don't you lie to me! What is Henri talking about, then? I saw that look on your filthy face!"

"Francis!" Michelle cried.

"I ought to send you straight down to the fiery pit where you belong!"

"I'd like to see you try!" Arthur challenged with a mocking smile on his face.

Henri winced and shot a concerned look at his sister as she just watched the two men begin to fight. Arthur shoved Francis away and Francis would have hauled off and punched him in the nose, but Michelle stopped them.

"Boys!" she cried. They froze.

"I won't have you fighting and tearing up my house!"

Henri snickered and Michelle glared at him.

"And you! Get out of here before you start any more trouble!"

"But I didn't do anything!" Henri exclaimed.

"I don't care! Out!"

The young man rolled his eyes and resignedly obeyed. Then Michelle sighed and looked at Francis.

"Arthur hasn't done anything like that," she said. "Actually, to be perfectly honest, I'm the one who seduced Arthur, if we're talking about that sort of thing." She smirked.

"What?!"

Henri, from his spot on the stairs, stared at his sister, gaping.

"Michelle!" Arthur exclaimed. The tips of his ears were beginning to turn red.

"So if you're going to get mad at anyone, get mad at _me," _she finished and laid her hand on Arthur's arm.

Francis stared at the both of them for a minute before laughing and pulling Michelle into his arms.

"So you were actually able to do such a thing to _Angleterre, _the fellow who still seems to be living in his reserved Victorian age? Ha, ha! That's my girl! Your big brother is so proud of you!"

He continued to laugh and Michelle giggled. All Arthur could do was gape at the both of them.

"You got mad at me over the same thing but you congratulate her?" he finally said in disbelief.

"Well this is different," Francis retorted, glaring at him while still cuddling Michelle. "You're a perverted rosbif beneath all that restraint. Of course I'd be worried about her!"

Arthur just continued to stare at him. _He _was perverted?! Did he actually hear that right?

_There's a phrase for this sort of thing… _he mused. _What is it again?_

Michelle couldn't help but continue to giggle. At least they weren't fighting anymore, she figured, and that was just fine with her.

**…**

_It has been almost two weeks now, and I don't think France and I have been fighting nearly as much as we usually do. I'd say that's quite an achievement!_

Sitting in a chair, shaded by palm leaves, Arthur took a deep breath of the sea air and let it out slowly. He stared out to the ocean and a book sat discarded in his lap. He was quite distracted by a certain woman romping in the waves.

Arthur smiled. As always, she was playful and lighthearted. She warmed his heart. The smile on her face and the sound of her laugh made his heart beat faster and he rested his chin on his hand as he watched her. Whenever she glanced over at him, delightful chills ran down his spine. Even now, when their relationship had become more physical, he found that all these feelings and emotions he had for the small island "colony" continued to grow. It didn't matter that his bosses had basically forgotten about her. They were fine with him being gone as long as he was able to continue his work and came back when they needed him, and as of right now, things were pretty calm. He was happy for that. He didn't want to be parted from Michelle.

She was, at the moment, splashing Francis and getting him drenched, which made him whine about how the sea water would ruin his hair. His objections only made her laugh teasingly and Arthur smirked.

_Typical. _He thought. _He's always so worried about that hair of his._

"Arthur!"

He suddenly noticed that she was calling his name as she ran up to him with a big smile on her face. She was soaked from head to toe and her light undergarments clung to her person. Arthur inwardly had to kick himself for the thoughts that passed through his mind at that moment. It wasn't the time for that sort of thing, especially with Francis around.

"What is it?" he asked as she bent over him. "Michelle, you're dripping onto my book."

"Oh!" She gathered her hair tightly in her hands and began wringing the water out.

"Sorry about that," she said sheepishly. She thanked him when he handed her a towel and he unabashedly watched her dry herself. She soon noticed.

"What are you staring at?" she challenged, giving him a look. He just smirked.

"You know, you probably shouldn't wear something of that color when you go swimming," he chuckled.

Her eyes widened and she gasped.

"What?" She quickly wrapped the towel around herself. "How embarrassing!" she whimpered.

Taking her by the arm, he pulled her closer to him.

"Do you want me to help dry you off?"

The playful tone in his voice left her embarrassed and she slapped his hands away. "No! Good grief, you really are as bad as Francis!"

"Did someone say my name?"

The Frenchman strode up to them, grinning, and Arthur didn't look pleased at his presence.

"Why would we? You must have been imagining things," he grumbled.

Francis and Michelle exchanged amused looks.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I was going to ask you, Arthur, if you were going to come and swim?"

"No. I'm rather comfortable where I am, thank you," was his answer.

"Oh, how boring!" Francis scoffed. "Well, I guess it can't be helped. He can't swim, after all," he said to Michelle.

"I can too swim!" Arthur exclaimed. "I just choose not to."

Francis rolled his eyes but Michelle chuckled.

"It's your loss," she teased in a singsong voice. "We're having a lot of fun."

"Forget about him," Francis waved him off. "Why don't we-"

"Hey! You three!" At that moment, Henri came running up with a pole and box of bait in hand.

"Does anyone want to go fishing?" he asked. He turned to Francis.

"How about it, brother?"

Francis hesitated for a moment, and turned to look at the other two, which he noticed were exchanging subtle glances every now and then. He inwardly sighed.

_All right, all right. I suppose I won't give him as hard a time as I was going to…_

He smiled. "I will go. Actually, I don't think I've been fishing since I was a child!" He exclaimed.

"Well, I'll refresh your memory!"

As the two of them walked away, Arthur saw Michelle heave a sigh.

"Well, since you don't like to swim, I guess I'll – oh, look! A sea turtle!"

She absently discarded the towel that she held, ran up near the shore and bent down to watch a slow-moving turtle make its way to the ocean. Arthur, while watching her, chuckled as he got an idea. Now that Francis was away, he could make a "fool" of himself without being laughed at. He rose up to his feet, removed his shirt and slowly crept up behind the oblivious girl who was still watching the turtle. Then he pounced.

All Michelle knew was that she was petting the turtle's head when suddenly two arms grabbed her from behind and she was lifted off of the ground.

"Wha- HEY!"

Her arms flailed, her legs kicked, and she could hear Arthur laughing as he barreled toward the waves with her kicking and screaming all the way. Once they hit the shore, Arthur gave a "heave ho!" and tossed her into a giant wave. She bobbed up and down in the water, and he couldn't help but laugh. That is, until she got her footing and tossed her hair out of her eyes.

"Arthur Kirkland, I am going to kill you!" she shouted. His eyes widened as he saw her coming towards him.

"Oh dear." He sprinted across the shore, with Michelle in hot pursuit.

"Get back here! Get back here, I said!" she shouted.

"Mercy, Michelle! Mercy!" he called behind him jokingly.

It didn't take long before she was able to catch up to him and she tackled him into the ocean. They laughed together and she continually splashed water at him. Pretty soon, he was just as soaked as she had been and his hair stuck to his head. They began having a dunking contest, and Arthur was winning, until she sprung up onto his back.

"Can't get me now!" she crowed. But Arthur just laughed and fell over backwards into the water. Michelle had to let go before she drowned either one of them and she popped up gasping a few seconds later. She saw the English man chuckling while treading water.

"You idiot," she muttered.

"Does that mean I win?" he beamed. She huffed and shrugged.

"Now now, let's not be angry," he chided good-naturedly. He swam up to her and gave her a big smile. Her frown began to waver and she did her best not to look at him, but soon she began to smile and she tried to shove his face away.

"Oh go away," she said. "I thought you said you couldn't swim."

"I said I didn't. I never said I couldn't." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her as they floated around.

Later on that evening, as Arthur was coming downstairs after drying himself off and changing clothes, he overheard voices in the common room. He quickly realized that they belonged to Francis and Michelle.

"I've had a very good time with you and your brother these past couple of weeks," he said.

"I'm glad you could come!" was her answer.

"Yes, even with that English man here, I had a good time," he chuckled.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Which brings me to ask," Francis continued, "why him? Why is it that you fell in love with that fellow? You've met a couple of other countries over the past couple of years. What is it that made you fall in love with _him?_ He doesn't have my good looks, for one thing," he teased.

Michelle lightly laughed. "Oh, no one has _your_ looks, Francis," she joked in return. "But… well, to answer your question: I don't really know. I mean, he was rude at first. He and his people just came and took everything over…"

Arthur sighed. He couldn't deny the way he had acted back then.

"But then… he became kinder. We found that we had some things in common… He told me about his home and he didn't treat me like an inferior as much as he once did…" She smiled.

Arthur peered around the corner and strained to hear well.

"Soon I came to find that I preferred his company above others'. When he made me laugh with his moods and when he showed me such kindness, I don't know, I guess I just fell in love with him."

Arthur smiled to himself and watched Michelle fondly as Francis patted her cheek tenderly.

"You dear girl," he said. "That man got lucky to have someone like you fall in love with him. He had better treat you well! I didn't give him as hard a time as I had planned, but if I hear anything that sounds bad…"

Michelle laughed at how impassioned he had become. "Don't you worry. I am sure everything will be all right."

"All right, _chérie. _Just remember that I am here for you if you need me."

Arthur quietly harrumphed at that and soon made his presence known, walking into the room.

The three-week period of Francis's visit soon came to an end, and the Frenchman had to bid goodbye to the brother and sister. He and Arthur didn't say much to one another, but they did give each other warning looks.

"Take care," Francis said, and Arthur read his implications.

"Don't worry about that," he shot back.

The Frenchman sniffed sardonically and then boarded the ship after giving Michelle and Henri one more warm farewell. Despite the two men's arguments and their coldness towards one another, Michelle could honestly say that the past three weeks had been a pleasant time.

* * *

A few weeks later, Michelle was in the process of deboning a fish in the way that Francis had shown her during his stay, and was humming lightly to herself when Henri came into the kitchen.

"Michelle," he said, "Mauritius and our boss are in the other room."

Her eyes widened and she lowered her knife. "All right, Henri. I'll be right there."

Sure enough, their cousin colony Mauritius and the official island administrator, an efficient-looking fellow with a neat mustache, were sitting in the common room. With a bright smile she greeted them and asked if they wanted some sort of refreshment.

"Oh no, we're only going to be here for a moment. We just wanted to tell you the news," her cousin said. He was a tall fellow with a complexion just a little darker than that of Seychelles and her brother. His eyes were dark as well.

"What news?"

The administrator was about to speak, when he suddenly looked behind Michelle and nodded. "Perhaps he would like to tell you? It involves him as well," he said.

Michelle turned and saw that Arthur had entered the room.

"So what's this all about?" she asked.

"Well," he began, "it turns out that we are going to have to take a trip to my homeland soon."

Henri now came into the room, quite attentive. "Why is that?" he asked.

Mauritius spoke up now, "Because your requests have finally been answered! You two are finally going to have an independent government!"

Michelle and Henri suddenly got excited. "Really?"

"Yes! You won't have to depend on me anymore! You'll get your own governor and everything!"

"That's wonderful!" she cried.

"Yes, indeed," the other man said, a small smile was on his face. "Hopefully I will assume the position."

Arthur nodded. "I am sorry it took so long to get to this," he said. "But I am happy for you all. My bosses wish to see you, and they want you to be in England in the next couple of weeks."

Michelle gasped and she and Henri grabbed each other's hands.

"We had better start preparing for the trip then!" she exclaimed.

"Does this mean I have to go too?" he asked.

Arthur nodded and Mauritius grinned.

"I will be coming along too! My governor wishes my presence."

"It'll be an entire party!" cried Michelle. "Do you think Alice will be able to handle so many people in her house?"

"Oh don't you worry about that," Arthur chuckled. "She'll just be excited to have you."

**…**

"I'm so excited to have you all here!" Alice exclaimed as her manservant took their outer garments. Michelle was the first one to run up to her and she gave Alice a warm hug.

"Oh Michelle!" the lady sighed. "Words cannot begin to express how happy I am to have you here!" The two ladies laughed.

"If it weren't for you, I'd be the only female here! That would be quite unbearable," Alice said jokingly.

"Well, not to worry. I will definitely keep you company while we're here," said Michelle.

"Excellent. Brother," Alice called to Arthur with a teasing smile on her face, "I think I shall steal Miss Gallaud away while you all are here. You get to see her all the time, and I don't after all."

"Nonsense! She'll be so busy with political affairs; you won't have time to take her to all your fancy get-togethers!" Arthur exclaimed as the group walked into the parlor.

"Balderdash," Alice muttered as she and Michelle entered arm-in-arm. "He's just saying that because he doesn't want to give you up. Well, there's nothing for it. I simply have to show you around the city. Things have changed a bit, you know, since you were here!"

Truth be told, Alice was able to have her way, much to Arthur's chagrin. The two ladies were out and about in the city: going to parties, seeing shows at the opera, and of course shopping. By the end of the second day of their visit, Michelle was practically rolling in ribbons and lace. Alice told her she was bound and determined to have the island colony looking absolutely stunning for her presentation before the government. She even took Henri and their cousin out to make sure they had suits for the day as well.

"Oh, praise God, we're home!" He exclaimed after their outing, which had occurred almost a week after they had first arrived in London. He flung himself down in a chair and heaved a big sigh.

"Would you stop whining?" Alice scolded. "You wouldn't sit still when they were fitting you! Of course you were going to get stuck with pins!"

"I don't even know why I have to have a suit in the first place!" Henri continued to object.

Alice bent over him. "Because we won't have you dressed like a pauper in front of the entire cabinet!" She rapped him on the head. "You're not on the ocean right now!"

Henri just sighed and Arthur, upon entering the room, patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, lad. It will only be for a couple of hours and then you can abandon the suit until goodness knows when."

Henri sighed again and exchanged glances with Michelle, who just smiled sympathetically and shrugged.

"Well," Mauritius spoke up, sitting on the couch beside his cousin, "it was nice to see the city at least, wasn't it?" He leaned over and nudged Henri.

"It is pretty big!" The young man exclaimed, jumping to life again. "I especially like the big clock we saw!"

Arthur laughed. "That's what everyone says when they see it." He turned and looked at Michelle while Henri and his cousin began bombarding Alice with questions about the clock's history. She returned the look with a smile and subtly patted the empty seat on the couch beside her and he accepted the invitation.

"Who would have thought that we would be here together again?" he said quietly. The others were still talking amongst themselves.

She smiled. "Things are a bit different now. We won't have any more awkward situations, I hope?"

"Oh, I could make that possible, if you want me to," he teased.

"Stop that!" she hissed, though her eyes were dancing in amusement.

Alice, upon glancing over at her brother, saw that he was whispering something in Michelle's ear, making her stifle laughter and her cheeks turn red. The lady smirked and cleared her throat.

"Sharing secrets like a couple of school girls are we?" she spoke up, trying not to laugh. Arthur's reaction at her interruption was enough to almost make her roll off the sofa.

Michelle just sweetly smiled and shrugged. "He was just making a joke."

"Oh really? I am quite fond of jokes. What was it, brother?" Alice asked innocently.

He huffed and looked away. "You wouldn't understand it," he said gruffly.

Alice shrugged. "Well, if you want to be that way, I won't ask. Now! What's say we get ready for dinner?"

**…**

The next evening, Michelle sat at the vanity in her room and rested her hand on her chin as she looked in the mirror blankly. Tomorrow would be the day when she and her brother were going to meet with the English Parliament to discuss the matter of becoming a Crown Colony. Both she and Henri were very excited. He kept saying how this was one step further into becoming an independent nation, and that left Michelle feeling very serious-minded. The idea of becoming an independent island nation hadn't really dawned on her. It had been a passing thought from time to time, but she had never seriously considered it. Would she be able to handle that position if it ever became possible? Or would it be better if she solely relied upon Arthur for support and resources? So far, the latter choice was working well for her. Michelle sighed and stared down at the brush on the table. Maybe she would put more thought into that later. For now, she was beginning to feel quite tired after another day of walking around the city with Alice. That had been enjoyable and she enjoyed Alice's company, but by the time they had returned home, she was ready for sleep. She had gone upstairs, had stripped herself of her dress and had just remained in her room until now. Dinner had been sent upstairs for her, but she hadn't even been that hungry.

Michelle sighed and decided that she would go to sleep very soon, when she heard a knock on the door. She stood, wrapped her light robe around herself and walked over to the door. She wasn't planning on opening it too wide, for she wasn't fully undressed, but was still clothed in her underclothes and corset. Upon further thought, she figured she would have to ask Alice or a hired maid to help her get the thing off. She still hadn't got the hang of the corset and hated wearing it.

She opened the door only a few inches and restrained a smile. Arthur was standing there, in just his shirt and trousers. She held the robe together with one hand and opened the door wider.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" she asked.

"I was just checking to make sure you were all right. You looked pretty knackered after the two of you came back today."

"Well, as you can see, I am fine. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

He nodded. "I see."

The two of them fell silent until Arthur cleared his throat.

"I just… well… I wanted to make sure everything is all right. Your room is satisfactory, I hope?"

Her smile widened. "Oh yes, this room is perfectly fine. Though…" Michelle turned for a minute and quickly looked back.

"The window in here is stuck… I can't open it."

His eyes widened. "Oh? Well, let me check on it."

He strode into the room and walked over to the window on the far wall beside her bed, not noticing that Michelle had closed the door and was smiling. Arthur went to check the window's locks and finding that they were working perfectly, proceeded to try opening the window. It opened with perfect ease.

He turned around and smirked. "Can't open it, eh? You must be weaker than I thought."

Her eyes widened this time and she huffed. "Excuse you! What is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, still with that insufferable smirk on his face. "Well, either that is the case or you just really wanted me in here."

Her cheeks turned pink and she marched over to the door, throwing it open. "Well, that's all over now! You can get out!"

"I don't want to."

"Well, I want you to. Out!" She quickly went to his side and began tugging on his arm. He slowly complied, but dragged his feet the whole way to the door.

"I was just joking with you, darling," he chuckled. When they reached the door, he quickly grabbed her by the waist and shut the door behind them. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Michelle wasn't wholly complying at first, but soon enough, she was kissing him back.

"My sister has been keeping you all to herself," he muttered between kisses. "I haven't had a chance to do anything with you."

"She is a good friend," Michelle answered. She reached up to stroke his cheek and he took it in his hand and kissed her palm. "I don't have many friends like her."

"Well, I am glad you two get along," he admitted. His breath tickled her skin. "But she has been doing this on purpose. She likes to toy with me."

She chuckled as she began un-tucking his shirt and as he covered her neck in kisses. "You're easy to toy with. You get so riled up so quickly."

"Yes, yes. I know. And I'm sure you get quite a bit of amusement from it," he said dryly. He slid the robe off of her and frowned at the obstructing article of clothing.

"Yes… well, I do still need help getting these things off…" Michelle sheepishly looked down at her corset.

"You women and your fashion sense," he muttered. "Here, turn around. I'll help you."

He began unlacing the stays in the back and Michelle pulled her hair over her shoulder so that it wouldn't get in his way. She smiled.

"You've helped me in a similar situation before," she said quietly.

He lightly kissed the back of her neck. "I remember."

"When you said I knew how to push a man to his limits…" She paused, feeling quite hesitant to continue. "Did you perhaps mean…?"

He leaned forward and spoke in her ear. "What do you think I meant?"

She fidgeted and rubbed the back of her neck. The low tones of his voice made her heart beat quicken. "Well… ah…"

Suddenly, the tight grip the corset had on her waist was loosened and she let out a relieved breath.

"There you go," she heard him say quietly. He tossed the corset to the side and wrapped her arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Does that feel better?"

She reached up to touch his cheek and proceeded to kiss him.

"Much better."

**…**

When the morning sun began shining in through the window of Michelle's bedroom, Arthur slowly squinted his eyes open and grunted. The last thing he wanted to do was get up at the moment. Even so, he soon sat up and rubbed his hand through his hair, yawning. The bed sheets were tangled between his legs and he looked over at the sleeping woman beside him. He smiled. She was lying on her stomach, revealing her bare back and her hair streamed about on the pillow beside her. Most of the sheets were covering her lower person. He leaned over to kiss the back of her neck and whispered in her ear.

"Michelle."

She stirred but didn't wake up.

"We need to get up now."

She murmured something he couldn't understand, burying her face in the pillow.

He began tapping the top of her head. "You meet my bosses today."

She turned her head, her eyes opened and she slowly sat up. She frowned at him.

"I don't want to get up," she whined.

"Neither do I, but we cannot be late." Arthur slid off of the bed and began dressing himself.

"This is your entire fault," she grumbled.

"_My _fault? How is your sluggishness my fault?"

"You were the one who came in here last night."

"Oh please," he scoffed. "Weren't you the one who started that whole window scenario?"

"I wouldn't have even thought of that if you hadn't stopped by with that silly excuse of wanting to make sure my room was all right."

Michelle got up and rubbed her eyes. She heard him laugh.

"All right, all right. Perhaps I chose the wrong night for this sort of thing."

She hummed in agreement and wrapped her robe around herself. "I need to get dressed now."

Arthur nodded. "I'll see you downstairs, all right?"

"Yes." With that, Arthur gave her a peck on the cheek and left the room. After a minute of yawning and scratching her head, she softly chuckled and began rummaging through her armoire.

Breakfast came and went and soon the island colonies found themselves in a vehicle traveling to the Palace of Westminster. Upon arrival, both Michelle and her brother gaped at the magnificent structure. It was a beautiful building and when they went inside, they were quite stunned, Henri especially.

"I wouldn't be surprised if this place was bigger than our entire island," he hissed in his sister's ear.

She quietly laughed in agreement. "These big nations have so many enormous buildings. France has a large palace as well."

"Is it as impressive as this one?"

She looked around and shrugged. "More or less, but in a different way."

Upon looking back at him, Michelle smiled. "You look nice, Henri."

The young man looked down at his white jacket, red, velvet vest, silk necktie and trousers. "You think so? I think these clothes are stifling."

Michelle giggled and wrapped her hand around his arm. "This will be over soon. Don't worry."

They entered a room called the House of Commons where governmental meetings were held and were introduced by Arthur to the King and to the members of Parliament. Then an official meeting began, where the administrator for Seychelles and the governor for Mauritius proceeded to lay down their case about making Seychelles a crown colony for Britain. Michelle and Henri didn't have to say or do much. They just had to answer questions or do what their administrator told them. After an hour, the men had come to a decision and both Michelle and Henri were told to sign a paper officially declaring their island an independent Crown Colony to the British Empire. The island's administrator became their first official governor: a man whose name was Ernest Bickham Sweet-Escott.

"Jolly good afternoon, isn't it?" Arthur heaved a contented sigh and walked with his hands in his pockets. Now that the meeting had been adjourned, the four of them had bid good day to the members of Parliament and were now back out on the city streets, heading for home.

"It is indeed!" Henri took a deep breath. He reached for his collar and began loosening his tie, thinking he'd like to have a nice, tall cold drink. Suddenly, he got an idea. He nudged Mauritius and said, "Let's go find one of those public houses Britain showed us the other day!"

Mauritius chuckled and winked. "That's the best suggestion I've heard all day."

Henri grinned and tapped his sister on the shoulder, who had been talking with Arthur.

"What?" she asked.

"We're going to … take a walk around," Mauritius spoke up. Arthur smirked and nodded. He had overheard Henri talking to his cousin.

"Of course. Well, don't get too lost."

"We'll see you both later?" She queried, giving her brother a pointed look.

"Oh, yes, of course!"

"We'll be back by this evening!" Mauritius and Henri waved and began walking away.

"Come on, Michelle," Arthur said, laying his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure they will be fine."

She took one more look at her brother and cousin as they headed in the opposite direction from Arthur and her. Then she continued walking with the Englishman.

"Well, I suppose we should head back," she suggested.

Arthur took her by the arm and tucked it through his. "How about we just walk around together for a little while? That might be pleasant."

The idea was indeed pleasant to her. She nodded and patted his hand.

"Where to? You know the city better than I do."

"Righto! Well, let's see… How about we take a turn in the park first?"

As they enjoyed the afternoon together, just talking in the park while sitting by the fountain and watching other people pass by, both of them felt incredibly, undeniably happy. Just simply being in each other's company and talking together was turning out to be most enjoyable. Sometimes Michelle would ask Arthur more questions about the city of London and about his home in general. Arthur, too, discovered how Michelle spent her first years on her island and how she had come to meet France.

After a little while, when the two of them were just sitting quietly, with Michelle resting her head on his shoulder, Arthur suddenly peered over the bench to his left and said, "Would you like to try some chips?"

Michelle raised her head to look at him. "Is that a food of some sort?" she joked.

"Yes, and it's quite good. It comes with fish as well."

Michelle shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, all right. I'll try it."

"Fine, then. I'll be right back."

He walked away to the left of their bench, and Michelle saw him approach a street vendor selling the well-known English snack of fish and chips. As she watched him, she happily sighed and smiled. Today had been such a good day, lack of sleep notwithstanding, and she hoped that many more happy days like this one were yet to come.

* * *

**A.N.: **Hiiiii everyoonnnne! 8D

This was... quite a chapter, I must say. ._. I'm probably the most disappointed in this one, but it's staying the way it is unless I get some crazy, rad idea that I can put in or change the chapter up...

Does that make sense? I'm running out of steam... sooo tired... but I had to finish this because it's been soo long since I've updated this.

I promise I haven't abandoned this, guys. Cross my heart and hope to die. :)

In fact, from here on out, I know exactly what I want happening in the next last few chapters.

Fun Facts: 1) Seychelles became a Crown Colony in 1903, which meant it was independent from being basically subservient to its brother island Mauritius. Now the island relied solely on Britain and had a legitimate governor to be able to represent the island in Parliament.

Of course, the island really only got to enjoy being a Crown Colony to its fullest for a short while... for a certain set of events would occur in the next ten/eleven years that would begin changing everything.

2) The man who was the governor of Seychelles was a fellow named Ernest Bickham Sweet-Escott. Don't know much about him, other than he was the official and last administrator of Seychelles before he became its governor. Yup.

Ok. Well, that's that!

Oh, and one more thing: my knowledge of the English Parliament is VERY limited. I basically only know that they meet in the Palace of Westminster and that they decide what Bills to pass and other political things... I just got confused as to what room in the palace they would meet in for an event such as this, so I just guessed that it would have been in the House of Commons room...

If I'm wrong about any of what I mention concerning the Parliament, please let me know! I'll fix it! Thanks! :)


	14. Chapter 13: 1914

Chapter 13

1914

"This is an outrage!" The voice of a younger Russia boomed throughout the room as he rapped his hand against the table. Seated with him in a conference room were his two allies France and England.

Arthur sighed and took a long sip from his cup of coffee. He needed the caffeine today, what with dealing with an angry Russia.

France sympathetically patted Russia on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, _mon ami. _I know how frustrating this must be for you…"

But he ignored his friend and turned to Arthur.

"First the lie about the straits and now this? What am I supposed to do about Serbia?"

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean? What _can _you do about Serbia? His people helped influence the assassination of Austria's archduke! He should have expected something like this to happen!"

Russia scoffed. "He wasn't expecting Austria to send out an ultimatum! Now he's asking me what he should do about it."

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know, but Austria is ready to fight Serbia isn't he?"

Russia nodded. "He's definitely hinting as much. Those requests made that perfectly clear…"

"But you can't really throw yourself into a war right now, can you?" France asked quietly. Even though none of them were on friendly terms with Austria and his partner Hungary, starting an all-out war against their Empire didn't seem to be worth it… at least just yet. And as for Russia, even though Austria was his rival, deep down he knew that he didn't have the strength and resources to go to war against him. Uprisings, revolutions and strikes among his people and subjecting countries left him tired, disheartened and weak.

He sighed. "You know Serbia can't agree to Austria's terms," he said, rubbing his face with his hands. "Not after what happened to Bosnia. Those two, well, they're practically brothers."

Arthur sniffed. "Didn't know you cared so much about the Balkans, Russia," he said dryly. Russia glared at him and muttered something in his own language.

"All right, all right. Gentlemen, let's remember that we are gentlemen," France said. He stood, placed one hand on Russia's shoulder while placing the other on Arthur's. "And gentlemen treat each other with respect." He pointedly stared at Arthur.

"Austria has sent your friend Serbia an ultimatum," he continued. "And we all know that if Serbia doesn't agree with all the requests, Austria will declare war upon him…"

Russia snorted. "It's just an excuse. That man has wanted to go to war against Serbia and me for some time now. If Serbia says one tiny thing against that treaty, Austria will waste no time in making his move."

"What do Germany and Prussia have to say about this?" Arthur spoke up. He had no real argument against the two Germans, but he knew that they fully supported Austria and Hungary.

France sighed. "They're most likely ready for a fight. If Austria declares war, we can be sure that they will immediately go against us…"

_And me, personally, for certain… _he thought.

Arthur set down his cup and ran his hand through his hair. He was sick of all of this. Sick of the Balkans, of Austria and Hungary, of Russia… and he was beginning to wish that he hadn't joined any alliance or entente when offered all those years ago. Most importantly, he really didn't want to go to war.

"So what's to be done?" he asked quietly.

France and Russia were silent.

"I suppose it's up to Serbia and Austria," France said.

Arthur said nothing but looked at Russia. The country was staring down at the table, as if deep in thought. He couldn't begin to guess what was going on in the fellow's head.

Russia was divided. On one hand, he knew that if it came to war, he had to support his main Balkan ally. Austria's sly trick over the Mediterranean straits in Bosporus and the Dardanelles had left him feeling humiliated and fooled, especially since Bosnia was still annexed and Austria got everything. Russia had been left with nothing and he made sure he wouldn't be fooled again. But on the other hand, events in the previous years had indeed left him weaker and less sure of not only himself but of his Tsar.

_Nikolay is a good man, but he is weak! He can't, or won't see what is happening to me… to all of us…_

Finally, he spoke. "We wait."

France nodded and Arthur said nothing in disagreement. Even so, there was a sense of foreboding in all of their minds. They knew that these series of events that had started in the Balkan states would culminate into something bigger, and it was not going to be something good.

* * *

1909

Michelle sat with her legs pulled up to her chest and once again, watched the waves roll up to the shore. Arthur had finally come home today. What she had hoped would be several years of peace and happiness between the two of them had instead been nothing but him running from country to country, doing his best to keep everything in the Empire in check.

Michelle sighed. She felt restless again. It had been a long while since this feeling had come over her, but there it was. She was beginning to tire of just staying in the same place, of being unable to go about her own business and see other countries herself. Arthur was going places, seeing new things and new people. He had even sent her things from his travels, like new inventions from America and France. His letters spoke of the progression of so many modern things like the automobile, electricity, the telephone and something called a radio. She was grateful for his constant correspondence, but she was beginning to wish she was there with him, instead of reading about it.

She didn't tell him about any of these thoughts, however. She didn't think it was worth the telling. After all, she was still only a colony under Arthur's care and she didn't know what he, as the representative of the British Empire, would think.

"Aha! Found you!"

She quickly turned around to see the man himself striding towards her. At the sight of him, a smile played at her mouth and she shoved down those troublesome thoughts for another time.

"Here I am!" she cheerfully responded. "Did you have a good nap?"

"Indeed I did! I feel quite refreshed!" He sat down on the blanket beside her and lay back, resting his head on his crossed arms behind him.

"So…" she said quietly. "How is the outside world?"

_Not that I ever get to see it…_

She heard him grunt. "Not good, darling. Everything seems to be buggered. Or, at least about to be."

Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she heard him sigh. "Over in Europe there's this big Empire, see…"

She tipped her head. "Kind of like you?"

"Right. Kind of like me, except there are two people that make up the empire, not just one, unlike me. Well, they've been having this spat with a smaller country named Serbia that refuses to be a part of the Empire. Things between them have been getting… worse."

"Worse?"

"Yes. Serbia feels that the Empire is threatening their existence, and the Empire fears that the small country threatens their power. I swear it's turning into a big mess."

"Hmm…" She rested her chin on her hand as Arthur reached up to run his fingers through her hair.

"So the country named Serbia doesn't want to be part of the big empire?" she asked.

Arthur nodded. "Exactly."

"I see. So that's all that their fight is over?"

"Well, there is also the fact that the empire took over another smaller country that Serbia almost considers as a brother…"

Michelle nodded again. "Hmm…"

"Like I said, it's all one big mess."

She had to inwardly admit, she could understand Serbia's predicament. If given the chance to be her own country over being ruled by someone else, wouldn't she take it? She definitely would. She stole a glance at Arthur, who was simply gazing out to the ocean. She wondered what would he do if she declared herself independent? It wasn't like she would be telling him to stay out of her life, right? She would merely be asking for him to let her make her own political and social decisions.

"What do you think about all of that?" She suddenly asked.

"What do I think?" She stole a glance at him and saw that he was frowning in thought. There was a pause as he pondered the question.

"Well, I don't really have an opinion on the matter. It's none of my concern, after all."

"Oh." She merely said.

"Of course, if it comes to having to go to war or anything, I admit I would just tell Serbia to stop fretting about the country Bosnia and try to get along with Austria and Hungary. War is not something I'd want to charge headfirst into."

Michelle frowned and buried her toes in the sand. "Do you really think it would come to war?"

He sighed. "Yes. Those two are so annoyed with each other that one slight move could send one of them declaring war upon the other. And if that happened…"

Michelle turned to him. "What?"

He shook his head. "Well, if Serbia was at war that means his ally Russia would go to war to help him. If Russia went to war, he would expect his allies to help him as well. And that means that France and possibly I would have to take up arms."

There was a pause. Michelle had to let that entire notion sink in before she could say anything else.

"So… if you went to war, would that mean…?"

He stole a sidelong glance at her. "Yes, I would ask my colonies to help me."

Arthur saw her eyes widen and he quickly sat up. "But don't fret!" He exclaimed. "It hasn't come to that yet, and besides, I wouldn't ask you to go to war!"

She was quiet and they just looked at each other.

"I…I wouldn't want that for you, dearest," he said quietly. His hand touched her face tenderly and she closed her eyes. She felt relieved. War was never something she expected to take part in.

Arthur held her to him. _No, _he thought. _I can't be expected to ask her to fight if war ever comes up. I wouldn't allow it! It's not like we'd need her people's help anyway… There's so few of them as is…_

"So you see, my dear," he said quietly. "The outside world is not worth a thought. You're better off just staying here, safe. And you needn't worry about any thoughts of war. There won't be one."

She clung to him. She was furiously trying to believe his words.

"…And if there is," he continued. "Then I will do my damnedest to see that none of this, you, your people, my people, and everyone else are lost."

He looked out to the ocean as the two of them continued to quietly hold one another. His face was set in a determined frown. He was a fool, he inwardly thought, to promise such things. He was beginning to sound like his old self, a man who assured a little boy that everything he did for him was out of love and charity, and not because he wanted more land, more power.

_Who are you to promise such a person as this beautiful woman a thing like that? You make it sound like you're a father to everyone, when in truth, you just own them all. You own her. You're scared that she and everyone else will leave you if you lose a war. _

Arthur shut his eyes. He held Michelle closer. No, he said to himself. He didn't own her. Not her. She knew that he didn't see things like that, right? She could tell him what was on her mind. Even if he couldn't make decisions for his bosses, he would understand any qualms she might have. She knew this, right? He had said those things previously about staying safe on the island just to assure her that she was safe with him. If she really wanted to be more than a little island colony, she would tell him, wouldn't she? Yes, of course she would. And she hadn't, therefore, she must be content.

He felt her pull away from him a little and smiled at her. She smiled back.

Yes. Everything was all right, as it always had been. And it would always be.

* * *

1914

The news of the Austrian Archduke's assassination was broadcasted on radios all over the globe, and this also included the small backwater colony of Seychelles. There, in her little sitting room where she and Arthur had experienced several happy moments, Michelle heard about the major cause that would start a World War.

Arthur was away, again. It was something that she had grown accustomed to, even if she didn't like it. He had been gone conducting foreign affairs for the past several months and she didn't know when he would come back. She sighed. She missed his presence in the house: his voice, the annoying way he would leave dirty cups and cigarette stubs everywhere, the sound of him dramatically reading some poetry or play, and the warmth he gave when he held her in bed.

Before he had left, she had told him about how she wanted to see more of the world, and he had held her hands and said in a soft voice,

"Of course you do! It can only be expected from someone as lively as you, darling. How about this: the next time I come back here, I will take you on a holiday to India's home. You would love his land, Michelle. It's warm, exotic, and beautiful. Would you like that?"

The sound of the radio brought her back to reality and she furrowed her brow in worry. After remembering what she and Arthur had talked about concerning the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the little country of Serbia, she had a feeling that the trip to India would not be happening any time soon.

"Something's happening, Michelle," Henri said, standing up from his seat near the radio. "Something big is happening, and we have no idea what."

She heard the bitterness in his voice. Frowning, she looked at him.

"What are you saying, Henri?"

He shook his head. "Nothing… I just wish – So much is happening in the world and here we are, just sitting here waiting to see what's going to happen… I just feel like we're useless…" He shrugged, but Michelle understood. He was feeling the restlessness she had been feeling for the past few years. But while she tried to ignore the feeling, or give Arthur subtle hints about it, she could tell that Henri was handling it differently, with resentment. It worried her.

What also worried her was what Arthur would have to do about all of this.

**… … …**

"He what?!" Arthur roared. His chair flew back, the items on his desk were tossed in all directions and he angrily glared at the man who had come to tell him the news. Germany had invaded Belgium.

"Yes, Sir. That is what our emissaries to Belgium told us."

This was unacceptable! Arthur pressed his forefinger and thumb against his eyes.

"So… you mean to tell me that despite all of our agreements back in 1839, as well as a signed Treaty that assured Belgium's neutrality,the German army decided to storm through Belgium despite their promise not to?"

The man said nothing, but his face was enough of an answer.

"They're doing whatever possible to get to France, sir," he finally said.

Arthur didn't know what to do. He had hoped that this war would just blow over, that it would be over by Christmas, but with the threat of Germany barreling through Belgium, he knew that France's unprotected borders were the next to be threatened.

Arthur felt his hands begin to shake. If France fell, his people, his Empire, and all he knew and loved would be on the line. And that included the island of Seychelles.

In that moment, Arthur knew what his bosses would do. He knew he was going to war.

**… … …**

The moment she saw him coming down the lane, Michelle felt an immense swell of joy come over her. She bounded down the stairs and dashed past the sitting room where her brother was relaxing. He had come to live with her now that Arthur couldn't be around all that often.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Henri exclaimed amusedly.

"Arthur! Arthur's here!" she shouted.

She didn't see the frown on her brother's face at the sound of the English nation's name.

Michelle was out of the house and in Arthur's arms in a matter of minutes. He held her so tight and didn't speak that she became worried.

"What's happened?" She quickly asked. Backing away, she got a good look at him and noticed something different about him. He was no longer dressed in his usual daily attire of a suit jacket and trousers. He now wore a military uniform: neat, unwrinkled, buttoned up and decked out in medals.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and took hold of his hands. "You're in uniform… Does this mean…"

He nodded. "I have to leave tomorrow but I thought I would stop by here real quick before I shipped out. My bosses weren't too pleased with me, but I didn't care. I had to see you."

She nodded and tightly held his hands.

"Come inside," she said quietly.

Henri was no longer in the sitting room when they entered the house, Michelle noticed. She didn't say anything about it however as they sat down by the radio. It had been switched off and neither of them made a move to turn it on. They just sat there, side by side, unsure what to say to each other.

"Is Henri around?" Arthur asked hesitatingly. He figured that was as good a subject to start with as any.

She shook her head. "He was, but I don't know where he went to…"

"He's still angry with me, isn't he?"

Michelle sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "Yes. But he'll get over it. I'm sure he will."

He hoped so. He and Michelle's brother had a falling out when he had denied Henri's request to join the war. Henri had sent several requests via formal letters, but every time he had received no letter of approval. As a result, he had become very dissatisfied with Arthur. He had no desire to see the man.

"I told him if we do decide to ask for assistance, he would be informed straight away. But hopefully this war will not last for too long. It's been going on long enough already…"

"He'll come to understand. Just give him time," she said quietly. "He just wants to do something to help the cause."

"Hmm."

Arthur didn't say what he was really thinking. The fellow should have been content to stay at home, not having to worry about seeing his people die or getting hurt himself. Henri didn't even have any fighting expertise. Truthfully, Arthur didn't think the islander would be able to help much.

Daylight was waning and it was almost time for supper. Michelle stared out the window and watched some birds flying in the sky going to some unknown destination. She envied the birds. They didn't have to worry about things like war and if their loved ones would get badly injured.

"Are you hungry?" she asked quietly.

"I could eat something, yes," Arthur answered. She nodded, slid off of the couch, and prepared to get a meal going for them. They didn't see Henri the entire time.

The meal was pretty good. Arthur noticed that her cooking had improved.

"Has India been giving you more cooking instructions?" He asked as he swallowed another forkful of chicken and rice.

"Yes," she chuckled. "You can't begin to imagine how many slaps on my hands I've gotten for my cooking mistakes."

He sniffed an amused laugh as he ate a couple more bites. Michelle began digging into her own plateful of food, glancing at him every so often.

"Does it taste all right?" she asked warily.

Their eyes met and he smiled. "It tastes fine, dearest."

"Good."

It grew quiet again and Michelle pushed some rice around the plate.

"Do you have to go to war?" she said in a soft whisper. She could almost feel him looking at her after she spoke.

"Yes, Michelle."

She bit on the inside of her cheek. "Why?"

He sighed and set his fork down. "Because a friend is in trouble. Not only that, but France needs my help. If he doesn't receive back up soon, there will be worse trouble for the rest of us in the future."

She looked up to meet his gaze.

"I understand."

He nodded. "Good."

"Though that doesn't mean I have to like it," she muttered.

"Nothing will happen to me, Michelle," he said. "I'm not about to let Austria and Germany win this."

She frowned and jabbed a piece of chicken. "You'd better not."

He laughed.

After the supper was over and everything was cleaned up, they decided to spend the last couple of hours before going to bed quietly in the sitting room. The radio remained turned off.

"_The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these marks of pity and compassion had awakened some pleasant dream of a love and affection he had never known. Thus, a strain of gentle music, or the rippling of water in a silent place, or the odour of a flower, or the mention of a familiar word, will sometimes call up sudden dim remembrances of scenes that never were, in this life; which-_

"Michelle? Are you listening?"

She looked at Arthur wide-eyed. "Yes?"

He rolled his eyes and set his copy of _Oliver Twist _aside. "You're the one who wanted me to read this."

"I was listening!" she objected.

"So you can listen and look at… what is that?"

Michelle was holding what looked to be a sort of pair of binoculars that were set on a handle. She held what looked to be small photo slides in her hand.

"It's a stereopticon…" She gave him a look. "Remember? You sent one to me so I could look at pictures of different places."

"Oh right!" He exclaimed. He took hold of the slides that lay beside her and examined it.

"Look!" she said excitedly, holding the stereopticon out to him. "Where is this again?"

Upon taking the mini projector and looking into it, he saw a long walkway by a bed of water, where people were walking and looking at some buildings from across the water.

"This is in America," he said. "It's the Chicago World Fair from 1893."

"America…" she murmured. "Wait! Didn't you know him when he was a child?"

Arthur nodded. "I raised him in a similar situation between you and France."

"Right. You never talked about him much, if I remember correctly."

"Yes, well," he shrugged. "He rebelled, we fought, and now we're mutual acquaintances. There's nothing much to talk about…"

He heard her murmur something along the line of _hmmm, _and he saw her looking back into the stereopticon.

"Is he nice?" she asked.

Arthur shrugged again. "He's loud, but yes, he's a good fellow."

"I'd like to visit his home someday, I think…" Michelle said thoughtfully.

"Should I be jealous?" he teasingly remarked.

Putting aside the little projector, she just smirked at him. "It all depends on how easily jealous you can get."

He scoffed and stood off of the sofa. "Well, whatever darling. I think I shall head for bed." He stretched.

Upon hearing that, she quickly rose up herself and wrapped her arms around his midsection. He chuckled at her actions.

"What's all this?" he asked amusedly.

"Don't leave me," she said childishly. "I've only got a few more hours with you as it is…"

That made him sadly smile. "Then come along, Michelle."

He spoke to her quietly, as if speaking to a child and took her by the hand. As they headed upstairs, she heard the sound of a door closing and figured that Henri had come back for the evening.

Arthur carefully removed the coat of his uniform and hung it on the doorknob. He did his utmost to keep it from wrinkling too much, as he would have to put it back on in the morning. Michelle had put on her nightgown and sat by the mirror brushing out her hair, watching him with sad eyes. Once he was dressed for bed, he walked over to her and bent down to kiss the top of her head. He heard her sniffling and gently prodded her to stand up.

"It will be all right, darling." He murmured in her ear as he held her, stroking her hair. "Everything will be all right. We have to be strong."

Michelle clung to the back of his nightshirt and swallowed hard. She didn't want to cry. Arthur was right, she had to be strong right now. It was just like all those other times he had been away; she tried to reason with herself. This would be no different. He would win and he would come back.

After a minute or two, she brought her hands forward to frame his face and she pulled him into a gentle kiss. He sighed when their lips parted and pulled her in for a deeper embrace. Warmth flooded her body when he slipped his hand underneath her nightgown and she combed her hands through his hair.

He felt goose bumps along his arms at the sensation of her touch. It had been so long since they had been together like this, and he was about to leave again, not to see her until only God knew. A sense of urgency overwhelmed him and he caressed the bare skin of her torso, slipping her nightgown down further. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and he couldn't help but utter a small moan when she pressed her mouth against his neck.

"Michelle…" he murmured.

She pulled back a little to face him and smiled sadly.

"I want you to remember me," she whispered, "when you're off fighting for your people in different countries."

He swallowed visibly. His chest heaved as he took a deep breath.

"Just… do what you have to," she continued. "But _please _come back. Even if you are broken and defeated, come back."

He could do nothing but nod before he pulled her back into his arms.

**… … …**

Dawn came too early for both of them but she was there to see him off. He would be sailing to one of the smaller of the Seychelles islands furthest away, where he had a plane stationed.

Arthur stared at the boat for a minute before turning to Michelle.

"Well… this is it."

She took a deep breath. "Yes it is."

There was a pause. Michelle then cleared her throat and nodded. "Well, off you go then."

"Right." Arthur looked away as he put on his cap. He didn't want to leave this place – or the little woman before him who was bravely smiling at him yet clenching her fists with suppressed emotion.

"Take care of yourself, Arthur."

He turned back to her. "You do the same. I promise I'll be back."

She swallowed before uttering, "I'll hold you to that."

The look they then shared was one of intense longing and regret.

_Don't go, _Michelle thought. _When will I see you again? How long will this war last? Who knows what will happen while you're gone? How will we bear it?_

His jaw tightened as they continued to stand there, silently staring. This lasted for a little while longer before he swiftly grabbed her and pressed his mouth against hers. She almost didn't have a chance to respond.

He roughly pulled away after the kiss lasted for a minute or two and said gruffly,

"I love you, Michelle."

"And I love you." Her voice shook.

He took a deep breath, gazed at her for a few more seconds and walked onto the ship. A cool wind blew and tossed her hair about her as she watched the ship sail away. Only after she was back at her home, sitting alone in her room, did she allow herself to cry.

* * *

**A.N.: **HI GUYS! :D

Ahhhh, and here we begin delving into the more complicated years: the decades that involved depressions, unrest and two World Wars.

This chapter is named 1914, so you can guess what this chapter will entail. oohhhh boy.

So! Let's talk a little about the biggie: The War to End All Wars; World War I. This may get long, fyi...

Basically (and this will be like the poor man's explanation because it's so bloody confusing. If I get some of the info wrong, feel free to inform me!) there was a lot of bad talk between Austria and the little country of Serbia in the years before 1914. Serbia, who had previously won its independence from the Ottoman Empire was on fire with independence and freedom. I read that they were hoping to start their own kingdom with the help of another little Balkan country called Bosnia-Herzegovina.

Unfortunately, the Austro-Hungarian Empire was going to annex Bosnia after making a deal with Serbia's ally Russia (though there was a bit of a ... misunderstanding to say the least.) In actuality, Austria seemed to have made empty promises to Russia in saying that Russia would be allowed to trade along the straits of Bosporus and the Dardanelles if Russia allowed Austria to annex Bosnia. The promise was empty, however, as I have said, because even though Austria proclaimed to talk the matter of the straits over with Britain (the major naval power), no discussion had been made and Britain told Russia there was no possibility of Russia being able to use the straits.

So... Austria got Bosnia, and Russia got nothing. Needless to say, Russia felt fooled and betrayed. Poor Russia, especially considering the fact that Russia had been through upheavals, revolutions, as well as battles on the inside with other countries like Lithuania, Poland, Lativa...

Serbia, in the meantime, was angry with Austria and the feeling was mutual with Austria. Austria felt that Serbia was threatening their power as an empire and Serbia was afraid that Austria was going to force Serbia to become part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. That was the last thing Serbia wanted.

Feelings of resentment and independence rose up in many Serbians and little groups were formed that wanted to start revolutions. This is what lead to the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria. Serbians influenced many in Bosnia, especially younger men who wanted freedom. A small group of college-aged men went about to assassinate the Archduke, and eventually they succeeded.

The funny thing was, if there hadn't been such tense and angry feelings between Austria and Serbia already, the assassination probably wouldn't have been that big of a deal. But because Austria wanted Serbia done with, the empire found this the perfect time to declare war upon the smaller country. Serbia, in actuality, didn't want a war. An ultimatum was sent that included a list from Austria of several rules Serbia would have to abide by to prevent war. If one meager issue was up for debate, Austria would cut all ties and war would begin.

The issues were ridiculous. Austria wanted to be involved in not only governmental affairs, but in daily affairs as well, such as bringing in Austrian police officers, etc. Serbia didn't really oppose this. They just wanted to discuss things, but Austria was determined to start a war.

Sooooo ties were cut, men began preparations, and other Empires who were allies to either side knew they had to step up. Germany and Prussia (who seemed to be itching for a fight) rushed to Austria's aid, which threatened France. So, Russia stepped up to Serbia's aid, and France (being Russia's main ally) did the same. Britain seems to have hung back a little. It seemed they wanted to remain neutral at first, and Germany didn't really want to fight England, having no real problem with them.

BUT. When Germany broke the Treaty of 1839 - that said that Belgium would remain neutral and that its borders would not be breached - and stormed through Belgium, England felt threatened. France held unguarded borders near Belgium, and that was Germany's target. Despite Belgium's attempts to hold the Germans back, the Germans would not be stopped. Britain used that opportunity to portray Belgium as a martyred country, where the women were raped on the street and the men were shot in cold blood. This was then dubbed "The Rape of Belgium." (Though these accusations were partly true, it seems that Britain's officials kind of exaggerated them to make Germany look worse in the eyes of the British people so that they would support the war cause.)

England then stepped into the war. After all, if France fell, who's to say that England wouldn't be next?

Annnnd that's pretty much it... There were a lot of other countries involved, of course. Canada, Australia, India, New Zealand and many other British colonies were thrust into the war. I'm sure many South American, Middle-Eastern and African colonies were involved as well, but since that's not exactly the main focus in this story, I'm not going to delve into it that much. Look it up for yourself. :)

America also became a part of the war, but that wasn't until later. The reason why we actually joined in the fighting kind of amuses me, actually. (Not because people died, but because of how we reacted).

Now, the question is, did Seychelles do any fighting? Well, you'll just have to see, won't you? ;)

Oh! and there is also this really informative Hetalia comic about the beginnings of WWI. It's called 1914. Check it out! You can find it on DeviantART by the artist named *Noive.

Sooooooo... I think that's it... Um... gosh this got long. Sorry about that.


	15. Chapter 14: 1918

Chapter 14

1918

Gunfire could be heard from up above as one significant soldier moved through the trenches past several other allied soldiers that were crouching to avoid being barraged with debris and shells while others were throwing grenades up above to the enemy's side. Suddenly there was a massive explosion and the soldier tumbled to the ground, grasping his weapon as dirt fell on his helmet. He heard shouting from his comrades as well as those from the Germans and he shakily lifted his head. After a minute of regaining his breath and realizing he was unhurt, he slowly began rising to his knees. The helmet tilted to the side and fell off, revealing tussled blonde waves and frightened indigo eyes. With a grunt, he rose to his feet, shouldered his weapon and picked up his helmet. He began walking again, at a quicker pace, more determined to find his group. He then came upon a group of five sitting around a small fire pit. A pair of green eyes rimmed in dirt and grime looked up at the oncoming soldier.

"Name?" the man asked. His face was shadowed by his helmet.

The soldier saluted. "Matthew Williams, Sir!"

The man's eyes widened and his helmet came off, revealing a dirty mop of blonde hair in desperate need of a trim.

"By Jove! Matthew, is it really you? Bless my soul!"

Matthew Williams blinked in surprise.

"England?"

"Aye, it's him, all right." Another one of the men, this time, a bearded fellow with long, dark-red hair and deep green eyes peered up at the soldier. He held a lit cigarette between his lips.

"And I'm guessin' you're Canada. S'that right?"

"Yes Sir!" said Matthew, better known as Canada. England strode up to his side and put his arm around the younger country's shoulders.

"I was wondering how you were faring. Come, lad. Sit with us."

The gunfire and mayhem from up above were momentarily forgotten as the group of six got better acquainted with one another. Canada found himself being introduced to not only Ireland and Scotland, but also to Wales and another fellow "colony" named Australia.

"How are your men doing, Canada?"Australia asked. His uniform was tattered and dirty, just like the others', but he also seemed to have suffered trauma to the face. His nose, in particular, looked like it had been broken.

"As best as can be expected," Canada answered. He took a deep breath and tiredly bowed his head, staring into the fire.

Scotland took a long drag from a cigarette and smoke billowed out of his nose. "Aye, I suppose that could be said about all of us," he murmured. The rest nodded and all were silent for several minutes.

"Our troops should be moving out soon," England then said, more to himself than to the others. He looked over at Wales who was reclining against the trench wall.

"You all right, mate?" he called.

Wales brushed the hair out of his eyes and shrugged. "Well, I guess you could say I'm doing bloody well for losing a leg…"

Canada looked up from the fire and gawked at the Welshman. Sure enough, one of his legs was a good calf shorter than the other one. After a grenade had blown the lower leg clear off, he had been put here in the part of the trench with less activity until he recovered.

"How long do you think you'll need?" Canada queried.

Wales shrugged again. "Dunno. All I do know is I'm not looking forward to when it grows back…" Being the unique beings that they were, loss of limb wasn't as big of a problem as it was for humans. Sure, it hurt just like it would for everyone, but they would be able to regain their limbs sooner or later.

England sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hated sitting here just waiting and wondering when his men would be making their next move. They hadn't even been able to find France yet. The Germans had put a halt in their movements, causing them to fight in the trenches bordering France and Belgium.

His people were struggling. He could feel it. There were so many losses that there were times that he felt like he wouldn't be able to move, let alone fire a gun or climb up the trench. He could tell that the five others sitting with him were going through the same thing. That had been why Wales had lost his leg so easily. This war was crippling each of them.

The walls of the trench shook. Something from up above exploded and there were screams echoing around them. Scotland flicked his cigarette stub away and struggled to his feet.

"Where are you goin?" Ireland shouted.

"To see wot the damage is!" Scotland growled back.

"Can you even walk?" Wales exclaimed, wide-eyed.

"I'm sure going to try!"

They watched as the Scot shakily began walking away, heading for the nearest ladder where he could look up and see what was going on. He climbed up and was gone for several minutes, leaving the others nervously wondering what was happening to him.

"He'll be all right," England muttered, looking at the careworn and worried faces of his comrades. "He's Scotland for crying out loud. It would take more than some couple of shells to knock his sorry arse down."

Canada and Australia just solemnly stared down into the fire and Ireland shared a worried glance with Wales. Eventually, Scotland did come back, slower and hunched over. He collapsed down against the trench wall by Wales and met England's stare.

"It's bloody hell up there," he said. His voice cracked and he ran his hand through his hair. After taking a ragged breath, he spoke again. "Ireland'n'I will be moving out soon…"

England nodded and Wales clapped a hand on Scotland's shoulder in encouragement.

"Let's have some sort of music before you go, then," he said. "Hey, Aidan, y'got any thing?"

"Hmm…" a glimmer of a twinkle was in the Irishman's eyes as he pulled out a small penny whistle. A little tune was played and he looked over at Scotland.

"I think you might know this one, Angus," he said. And he began to sing.

"_Of all the money that ere I had, I spent it in good company,_

_And of all the harm that ere I've done, alas was done to none but me._

_And all I've done for want of wit, to memory now I can't recall._

_So fill me to the parting glass. Goodnight and joy be with you all."_

A nostalgic smile came over Scotland's face and he began to quietly sing along.

"_Of all the comrades that ere I had, they're sorry for my going away,_

_And of all the sweethearts that ere I had, they wish me one more day to stay._

_But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise while you should not,_

_I will gently rise and I'll softly call, 'Goodnight and joy be with you all'."_

England couldn't help but smile. "Good song," he murmured.

Ireland lowered his instrument and glanced at his estranged brother.

"Thank ye," he said quietly.

Then Canada turned his gaze on the Irishman.

"One more before you go?" he suggested. "Maybe one about the girls back at home?" His eyes sparkled a little with the thought.

Ireland smiled and nodded.

"Aye, I've got one. It's a bit quieter, but it's one of my favorites."

After playing another tune on the penny whistle, he began to sing a soft song that made his comrades smile.

"_Where Lagan stream sings lullaby, there blows a lily fair._

_The twilight gleam is in her eye. The night is on her hair..."_

England had a small smile on his face. He was suddenly reminded of a certain "flower" sitting not by a stream, but by an ocean. He could picture her looking out to the water and running her hands through hair as dark as night.

"_And like a lovesick leanan sídhe, she holds my heart in thrall._

_Nor life I own, nor liberty for love is lord of all."_

Ireland continued to sing this soft, quiet song but England was lost in his thoughts of a small woman living by the seashore. He wasn't sure if he would compare her to a leanan sídhe, though there were times when he was with her or even when he thought of her, that he felt like she held his heart captive like that faerie creature was supposed to do, as the song professed.

He let out a lovelorn sigh. How he missed that faerie like girl. How he wished every time he held her letter in his hand, reading its beloved contents that he could somehow transport himself out of the war and to her side. He could still feel her touch, hear her voice, and see those beautiful eyes, watching him.

As soon as the song had ended, a soldier ran up and spoke to Scotland. When he left, Scotland nodded to Ireland and the both of them slowly stood up.

"You're going?" Wales asked quietly.

"Aye," Scotland answered as he and Ireland approached the injured man. He knelt down and rested his hand on Wale's head for a minute.

"I'll see ya, brother," he said. Wales nodded and reached up to pat his brother on the back.

"Watch yourself, Wales," Ireland told him, ruffling his brother's hair.

Once the three had said their goodbyes, England then rose to his feet and held his hand out to both Scotland and Ireland.

"Godspeed," he said.

Scotland nodded and grasped England's hand tightly before England turned to Ireland. The two of them merely stared at each other, as England continued to hold his hand out and Ireland just scrutinized his face darkly. The others watched them and Scotland looked ready to butt in if any problems arose. However, Ireland just looked down at England's hand and slowly took it. Neither knew when they would see each other again.

"Don't try to get yourself killed or anything," England murmured.

Ireland just smirked.

"You won't get rid of us that easily," he countered.

That made Scotland chuckle. "Damn right. Come brother, it's time to start climbin."

England was quiet as two of his brothers headed out to the ladder that Scotland had previously used. They were soon gone, up above where grenades were being thrown and shells were exploding. Suddenly, he heard a hiss of pain come from Wales' direction and he went to his other brother's side.

"Is it coming?"

Wales nodded quickly and England helped him sit up higher. He took a pocketknife out of his pocket, slit Wales' pant leg up the thigh and rolled it up to reveal the stub where the calf should have been. Wales gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tightly.

"No matter how many times this happens, it still hurts just as badly as the first time," he bit out.

England was quiet but gripped the man's shoulder.

"It'll be quick," he assured him. "Just hold on."

Canada crawled over to Wales' other side.

"Need help?" he asked.

England nodded. "Thank you, Matthew. We'll need to stabilize him."

Australia, still sitting by the fire, was quiet as he watched the other three. Suddenly as Wales began to stiffen and groan in pain, Australia began scrambling through his satchel and brought out an unlabeled bottle. He knelt in front of the injured nation and held the bottle out.

"Drink this," he ordered.

Wales grunted and snatched the bottle from the Australian. He quickly downed the bottle's contents and hissed through his teeth.

"Oh yeah, it's coming now."

England gripped his brother by the thigh as Canada held him by the shoulders. Wales had to be still for the leg to properly form. It was a painful process that could last for a mere twenty minutes or go up to two hours, depending on the area. England watched as the limb slowly elongated, starting with the bone and muscle forming following with the veins. The skin followed right after, enveloping the limb before anything was harmed by the elements.

Wales was in extreme pain. He cried out, ground his teeth together and sometimes both England and Canada received the brunt of his fists on their backs. Canada gave him something to bite down on so that he wouldn't bite through his tongue. As for Australia, he didn't want to watch. It was too painful. England, however, kept his eyes on the leg to make sure everything was growing back properly. It took almost an hour for the leg to grow back. Next was the foot.

The ankle came first, followed by the foot, which took the longest to form, and gave additional pain. Tears were beginning to wash Wales' dirty face as they streamed down. He reverted to muttering a stream of phrases in his native tongue.

"What's he saying?" Canada asked.

"No bloody idea," England answered. "In times like these, or when he's really incensed, he'll begin speaking in Welsh. Nobody can understand him when that happens."

By the time the foot was formed and the last toenail was growing in, the process had taken almost another hour. But it was finally over and Wales heaved a shuddering sigh.

"Thank God," he breathed. He could feel his leg go numb, followed by the feeling of pins and needles all the way down to his toes as the blood began coursing through his veins again. It was uncomfortable, but next to nothing compared to the pain he had just experienced.

"Can you move anything?" England asked.

Wales nodded and wriggled his toes.

Seeing that the whole ordeal was finished, Canada sat back and heaved a sigh. "Never had that happen to a leg and a foot before," he quietly said.

"The eye is the worst," Australia muttered. The others stared at him and he merely stared back. That was when a commanding officer approached the four of them and quietly spoke to Australia.

"Well mates," he said, "it's time for me to go."

He nodded to the officer and stood. "I don't know when next we'll meet, but until then, take care of yourselves."

"You do the same," Canada answered. Australia nodded, shouldered his satchel and put on a battered army cap. Then he followed the officer in the opposite direction of Scotland and Ireland. After going around a turn, he was gone.

"You lads go on ahead," Wales suddenly said. "I'll be able to walk shortly."

Canada frowned. "You sure?"

"Yeah, no worries. I can manage myself. Looks like you're leaving soon anyways, Arthur."

England frowned in confusion until Wales nodded to the right of them, indicating that another soldier was coming their way. At the sight of the British uniform, England began packing up his gear.

"Mr. Kirkland…" the soldier spoke, approaching them.

"I know, Sir. I will join you shortly."

Before he left, however, he knelt down beside his brother and clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I'll see you soon, Alan," he said.

Alan rested a hand on Arthur's, giving his brother a brave smile.

"Be careful, Art."

Arthur gave a single nod, stood and then patted Canada on the back.

"You take care as well, Son."

"I will, England, Sir," Canada answered bravely.

"Righto. Lead on, then, my good man!" England ordered the soldier beside him and the two of them walked further down the trench in the same direction that his other two brothers went. They approached a ladder where several English soldiers were now preparing to climb and make a run for it over the wide stretch of No Man's Land.

He took a deep breath and reached for the ladder. The last thing on his mind before he hefted himself up to the top was,

_Dear God, please let Michelle be all right…_

* * *

**June, 1918**

Henri was gone.

Michelle knew he was going to leave sooner or later, but still, the lack of someone else's presence in the house after being used to having at least one person around left her feeling utterly isolated.

A large group of the men had left to join a formed group called the Seychelles Labour Contingent, which was sent to East Africa, and Henri had gone with them. He had been thrilled to finally be able to give his services to the war in some form and the group had been gone for quite some time now. In the meantime, Michelle was alone. It seemed that everyone was away fighting in the war except for her, and the radio made things sound like this war would never end. This country was being invaded, so many of these people were dying, that army was losing reinforcements, and so on and so on.

But the trouble didn't end there, no. For Michelle and her people, the continuation of this war meant additional hardships on her islands. Everyone was running out of money, prices were going up to incredible numbers and stores had to be closed down. All progress in the city had stopped and people were reverting to the old ways of farming although there was so little land to farm. Pretty soon, everyone was running out of food and crime was rampant.

Michelle didn't know what to do. People would come to her door begging, pleading for her to somehow fix the problems, but there was so little she could do! She sent out messages via telegraph, asking for assistance from anyone, but she always received the same answer: war was making provisions scarce. Other islands and colonies had to look after their own people. They couldn't help. The empires were too busy participating in the war and making war materials to help and bring the trade over to her part of the ocean.

No. She was out of options and she was all alone in this. What was worse was that now Henri and many of the men had left for East Africa, which left mostly women, children and the elderly to fend for themselves. The majority of able-bodied men that had been left were prisoners and no one trusted to let them out and have run of the place.

So, slowly and surely, starvation began to once again set in.

**… … …**

Michelle felt weak. She could hardly force herself up the stairs these days and was mainly sleeping in the sitting room. As her people weakened and grew hungrier, so did her body.

No one came to her house anymore and she never answered her door these days, being in her weakened state. She figured many thought she had died and she wished she could sometimes. Sitting here at Arthur's old desk, she slowly penned down quite a morbid letter.

_Oh, Arthur, I don't know how much longer I can hold on. This suffering of my people is almost too much to bear. They're dying, Arthur, slowly and I cannot do anything. While you and your peers are all fighting in this war, colonies like me are left to fend for ourselves and scrounge for anything we can eat._

_ My people have begun to eat bark off of the trees. Children have drowned trying to catch fish in waters too deep to swim in. The prisons are bursting from people committing crimes due to lack of food and there's been talk of break-outs. I'm scared. I don't know what to do, Arthur. I don't know how to save my people without traders coming through here!_

She stopped writing and rested her head against the table. Her eyes were tired and so were her hands. She didn't want to write anymore. Suddenly there was a frantic knock on the door. Michelle raised her head and stared listlessly at the door's direction. Was there someone else come to ask for help? She was getting tired of hearing the same pleading words when all she could do was say the same thing: there was nothing she could do.

She wished Abigail was still with her, but with the decline of her people's livelihoods and no food or means to support each other, Michelle had told Abigail to go home.

"I don't have any way to pay you anymore, Miss Connor," she had said to the lady one afternoon in May.

Abigail had tried to insist that she stay. "I can stay on without pay, Miss! I don't want to leave you!"

"No, Abigail. We're all running low on food and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"But-"

"Please," Michelle had pleaded, taking her friend by the hands, "this is the last request I'll make of you. I promise I'll write to you! And don't worry. I'll be all right."

After further debate, Abigail had finally given in and she boarded a ship for England the next day.

The relentless knocking brought Michelle back to the present and she slowly approached the door. The knocking was more desperate sounding now.

"Who is it?" she whispered, opening the door a sliver to see two frightened girls outside. Michelle's eyes widened.

"What's happened?" she exclaimed, seeing the scared look in their eyes.

"The criminals!" One of them, a young girl with a scarf around her hair, exclaimed.

"What?" Michelle opened the door wider and the other girl, who was taller and older, grabbed her by the arm.

"They've escaped! They're running around the city," she said, tearfully, "robbing stores, drinking…"

Michelle's heart began beating faster. She gripped the girl's hand.

"Did they hurt you?" She asked, looking at both of them.

"No," said the older girl. "But they saw us and we ran from them. That's when we run in this direction and found your house, Miss."

"Please! Can we come in?" The younger one pleaded.

Shouts and laughter could be heard down the street and the ladies began panicking.

"Please!" They cried.

Michelle didn't think twice. She quickly ushered them inside and right before she closed the door, one of the escaped prisoners spotted her and began heading her way. She slammed the door shut and quickly bolted it. The two girls were cowering in the foyer as Michelle scrambled for something to block the door.

_The table! _She thought.

The front door banged as the man outside began pounding on it, jeering and shouting obscenities. The door handle jiggled and shook.

"Girls!" Michelle shouted. "Come into the kitchen!"

They obeyed, trying not to cry and saw in the dim candlelight Seychelles tipping over the kitchen table.

"Help me!" she hissed. The pounding echoed from the foyer.

"What are we doing?" One of them asked.

They helped pick up the table and turned it on its side.

"We're going to put this against the door. Hopefully this will prevent him from getting in."

The man outside was getting angrier. He began kicking the door and shaking the handle harder, all the while threatening to shoot them all dead. Michelle could tell by his slurred voice that he was drunk, which made their situation all the more desperate. With extreme effort and a good dose of adrenaline brought on by rising panic, the three women hoisted the table up and propped it against the door.

"All right," Michelle panted, "you two run upstairs and hide in one of the rooms. I'll stay here until he goes away."

"Are you sure you'll be all right, Miss?"

She nodded. "I can handle this."

The two girls obeyed her and hustled up the stairs. When Michelle heard a door close, she went and sat down in the sitting room, continuing to face the front door. The fire had burned down low and she picked up a poker. If she had to, she would use it.

The banging continued as did the yelling. Michelle gripped the poker and walked up to one of the windows.

"Go away!" She yelled in a voice that sounded stronger than she felt. "I have no money and no food! There's nothing here you want!"

The man just laughed and shouted something that made her angry.

"Get out of here! I am the official representative of Seychelles and I will kill you if you don't leave me alone!"

She remembered that Arthur had told her that he had left a revolver up in the bedroom closet for safe precautions. She was afraid to leave her spot though. She didn't want to take her eyes off of the door.

Her threats didn't seem to faze the man, however, as he continued to inflict damage upon her front door. Thankfully, it didn't budge. The table was doing its job. He then tried the windows, but she had put up the shutters and he couldn't get past them, for they were bolted from the inside. The window shattered, and the man was now banging on the shutter. Michelle gripped the poker and back away from the window.

For some reason, at that moment she thought of Arthur. _He would be furious if he was here_, she thought. She could imagine the fire in his green eyes and the bristling of his eyebrows as he glared at the door, hearing this man shout and jeer.

_I can imagine him taking out his pistol right now, _she thought. _Or, more likely he'd shout curses right back at the man. "Keep calm, Michelle! We can take him!" That's something he would probably say…_

A smile came over her as she prepared herself in case the man broke in. She tried to keep calm by thinking of Arthur and what he would say or do if he were there with her.

**… … …**

Daylight peeped through the cracks in between the shutters as the two girls tiptoed down the stairs back into the main sitting room and kitchen area of the house's first floor. Everything was quiet. There was no banging or shouting.

The younger girl with the scarf grasped her companion's arm.

"Do you think he's killed her?" she said in a hushed voice.

The older girl shook her head.

"No. Else wouldn't he have come for us too?"

"Well he might have grown tired and went somewhere else? Where is she then?"

They cautiously peered around the corner past the sitting room to the foyer. There, they saw Michelle on the floor, leaning against the table. The poker lay in her lap and her head was bowed.

"Oh!" The younger girl gasped as the older one ran up to Michelle and shook her shoulder.

"Miss? Miss, are you all right?"

"She's dead!" the young one shrieked. "He killed her! That wicked man has killed her! What should we do?!"

Michelle stirred and yawned. "Kill who?" she murmured.

"She's not killed, you silly! She was just asleep!"

"Who? I wasn't asleep…" Michelle said groggily as she rubbed her eyes. Before she knew it, the two girls she had helped the previous night were crying and hugging her.

"Oh thank the Holy Virgin! You're not killed, Miss!"

"Killed? Me? No, of course not! I just drifted off to sleep, that's all."

"What happened?" said the less emotional girl as the younger one continued to rest her head on Michelle's shoulder.

"Well, after a few hours, the man began getting tired. I could hear him stumbling and falling around outside. He was very drunk, after all. By dawn, some people had come and carried him away. I guess they were in charge of getting everything back in order since they knew his name. I talked to a couple of the women that had arrived and they assured me that everything was all right. Oh, which reminds me…"

She gently prodded the girl off of her and rose to her feet.

"I have a meeting to get to! What time is it?" She strode into the sitting room and looked at a clock that Arthur had given her. It was half past eight!

"I only have half an hour until I have to be at the meeting!" She exclaimed. Turning back to the two girls, she seemed to suddenly remember that they were still with her.

"Are you girls all right?" She asked, taking their hands. "You're not hurt or too shaken up, are you?"

"Oh no, Miss," said the sensible one. "We were more worried about you just now."

"It got so quiet down here; we were afrightened that you were dead!" The younger one exclaimed, still seemingly upset.

Michelle merely laughed. "Oh no, he couldn't get in. Besides, I wouldn't have let anything happen to you two." She brightly smiled and squeezed their hands affectionately.

"Here, help me put the table back."

After several grunts and a couple of rest breaks, the table was back in the kitchen where it belonged. The door was then unbolted and the shutters were pulled back to reveal a sunny day. It was as if the previous night's ordeal had never occurred.

"I was told the streets are safe to walk around now," Michelle said. "So you two should be able to head for home. You probably have families who are worried about you."

The young girl hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Miss! You saved us last night."

"Yes, thank you," smiled the other girl.

Seychelles felt a surge of happiness. She had helped her people and though it may have been but a small service, she felt stronger than she had felt for several months. It was that feeling that all of her kind felt when they helped their people; like they were fulfilling their purpose.

"It's my job to keep you safe," she said quietly. "You don't need to thank me."

The two girls just continued to smile at her, unsure of how to respond to that.

"Well then," Michelle said, taking a deep breath, "you girls go on now. Take care!"

They both hugged her one last time before leaving the house and heading down the street. Michelle watched them until she couldn't see them anymore. Then she began preparing herself for the meeting with some of her people about what they were going to do about the food problem.

* * *

**September, 1918**

_Death, starvation, sickness… that's all I keep reading about._

Arthur sighed as he laid down yet another letter from one of his colonies. Because of the lack of trade from his people, several colonies were suffering. Not only that, but many others were fighting their share in the war. Many were losing their people.

"Well, well, well."

Arthur looked up from his letter and immediately grimaced. A specific nurse was standing over him with an amused smile on her red lips.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it, Arthur?" She said. "Or should I call you _Angleterre?"_

"England will suffice, thank you," he said stiffly. "I didn't know you were a nurse, Miss Bonnefoy."

Marianne Bonnefoy, the coquettish sister of none other than Francis Bonnefoy, just quietly laughed as she sat on the side of his bed.

"Well, I cannot very well be a soldier or a sailor!"

She picked up his wrist to check his pulse.

"True," he replied. "Now the question is why am I still copped up here? I'm fit as a horse!"

"I was told under strict orders to keep you here until sent for. Many think you are dead, you know."

Arthur snorted and looked out the window.

"It would take more than a mere grenade to keep me down."

"You had your torso blown open, Arthur. Usually men die from that, you know," she said dryly.

He grinned. "I am not just a man, though."

Marianne smiled and brushed her hand along his jaw line. "No. You are not."

Arthur frowned and shoved her hand away.

"Well?" he barked.

"Well what?"

"Why are you still here?"

Marianne huffed and tossed her brunette head.

"You don't have to be so rude, you know."

"Well, please answer the question and I won't be."

"I've brought you the mail for today." She slapped some envelopes down onto the table next to him. "And I was told to check on you to make sure you hadn't tried to escape."

"Escape? Me?" he asked innocently.

She just crossed her arms and frowned.

"Yes, you. You are not fit to leave yet, so don't even try it."

England scoffed and waved his hand at her. "Pish posh! I've healed, haven't I?"

"Only recently. The stitches still need to be removed."

"Oh… Well-"

"And do you think you can walk yet?"

He opened his mouth as if to make a retort, but then closed it. The truth was he felt weak just in lifting his head.

Marianne nodded. "As suspected. Just rest, Arthur. Your men know you're here and they want you fully healed before you get back on your feet. They know it will take time, so don't rush anything."

He frowned. He couldn't take it, being cooped up in this hospital. It gave him too much time to do things like fret and worry. At least being out on the battlefield preoccupied his thoughts! He wouldn't have time to think about all the troubles at home or with the colonies when he was fighting. What made things worse was that he hadn't received a letter from Seychelles in such a long time. How could he bear just sitting around wondering, waiting, dreading and yearning for any kind of note from her?

He sighed. "I'll do my best to be a good patient," he grumbled as he picked up the day's mail.

Marianne couldn't help but smile. "You know, Arthur, if you get bored, you can always ask for me." She looked away for a minute, but looked back at him.

"Arthur?" She rested her hand on his arm.

"Hmm?" He perused the letters as he absently listened to Marianne.

"I – I know you and I haven't exactly been … close for the past several years…"

Arthur glanced at her and nodded, looking away.

"Mm hmm." He avoided looking at her by focusing on another letter. It was from India.

"And I know that it is mainly my own fault…"

This time, he fully looked her in the eye.

"Yes, _mademoiselle, _it was," he said shortly.

"But… perhaps we could become close again while you recover…" She suggested, but Arthur hardly heard her as he took up another letter and read who it was from. His eyes widened and his heart began to pound.

_Finally. _He tore the letter open and just drank in the sight of that well-known penmanship, like a man who had been thirsting for so long and was finally receiving relief.

"Michelle," he murmured.

"What?"

Arthur glanced up at Marianne as if he had just realized she was in the room with him. A big smile came over his face and he pointed to the letter.

"She's finally sent me a letter!" he exclaimed happily.

"Who?" Marianne asked, surprised.

"I've been sending letters this whole time and for the past three months she never responded. But now, look!"

"Yes, yes. I see the letter." Marianne pushed the paper away. "But who is it from?"

"Michelle."

"And who is Michelle?"

_Oh lord, _Marianne thought, horrified. _He hasn't fallen for a human, has he?_

She reached for the envelope and saw the names on it.

_From the Official Representative of Seychelles_

_To the Official Representative of Great Britain_

Marianne looked at Arthur, who was fully engrossed in the letter's contents.

_Surely… he hasn't… he didn't develop feelings for a colony, did he?_

"Oh no. No, no, no!" She heard Arthur mutter continually.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"They're in trouble. _She _is in trouble!"

"Seychelles?"

"Of course! Who bloody else?" Arthur yelled.

"What happened?" Marianne asked again, maintaining a calm demeanor.

"She tells me that trade has ceased, so her people are struggling for food. Not only that, but riots have broken out!"

Marianne was surprised but not quite as affected like Arthur seemed to be.

"Oh dear," she said.

"I have to go! I have to speak to someone about this."

Arthur threw the blankets aside and began to rise from the bed, but Marianne grabbed him.

"Oh no, you don't! What did I just say?" she exclaimed.

"But I have to go! Unhand me, woman! Don't you see this is vital?"

"What's vital is your recovery!"

The two struggled. He pushed and she pulled.

"Arthur, be reasonable! You're only worrying about a colony! They'll work it out!"

"No! You don't understand! She needs my help! She'll think I've abandoned her if I don't do something!"

"But you'll abandon the war instead?"

Arthur paused. He no longer struggled but sat on the side of the bed with his head bowed.

"No. No, I can't do that. I can't abandon the war."

Marianne went over to his side of the bed and sat down beside him. She took his hand in hers.

"All colonies need to go through hardships. It's how they grow."

Arthur frowned. That's what he had thought, but lately, it had occurred to him that if Seychelles and others like Mauritius and India _weren't _colonies, and if they were their own countries with their own choices, would they have a better chance at "growing?" This thought had first entered his mind when Henri had joined the small force from Seychelles over in Africa. While they went to war because he, as their "ruler" had demanded it, Arthur knew that Henri wasn't going to war for him or for the Crown. Henri was going to war for his people. He wanted to make sure his people remained free. The problem was Arthur knew they weren't. He could still hold Henri back if he wanted to. And yet, as times were changing, he was beginning to wonder what would have happened if he had set Michelle free. Would her people be starving now? Because of her sole dependency on him, was she suffering more? After all, he had hardly been around the previous years before the war began. He knew she must have been lonely. Michelle had spoken of traveling, of meeting others, but she couldn't do that without his consent and he had been so busy with other affairs, he hadn't the time to think about those kinds of things.

Was she feeling neglected?

Would she have been better off without him in her life?

"Who are we to say how they should grow?" he said quietly.

"What?" Marianne queried. She frowned, perplexed. Arthur wasn't sounding like himself.

"Why do _we_ get to decide what is best for those like Seychelles and Mauritius and others like them?"

Marianne shrugged. "I suppose because we knew how to govern things before they did…? We're just teaching them until they're mature enough to make their own decisions."

"But when do we decide when they're 'mature enough'? That was one of the reasons why America fought against me! I wasn't allowing him to decide things for himself!"

Marianne sighed. She didn't want to think about this.

"Arthur, you've been badly injured. You're not exactly thinking straight."

He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly, he felt very weak.

"I know you're worried about Seychelles, but trust me, if she's strong and if her people are strong, they'll get through this."

"You think so?" he asked weakly as he allowed Marianne to help him back in bed.

"Yes," she answered. "Now rest. All that excitement you just went through has drained all the strength from you."

He sighed, laid his head back and closed his eyes.

"I can't help but worry, you know."

Marianne smiled. "I understand."

"I love her, Marianne. I love her so much… It – it hurts how much I love her. And I'm just frightened that if I don't help her I'll lose her the same way I lost America…"

Marianne was quiet as he spoke and she was quiet as he finally drifted off to sleep. She left the room shortly thereafter.

_Seychelles, _she thought, _I don't know you, but I hope to God above that you deserve that man and that you won't break his heart the way I did…_

* * *

Michelle felt terrible. Word on the radio was that the war was finally coming to a close, but that didn't help end the fatigue and the feeling deep inside that she was losing her people.

Arthur had responded to her last letter. He spoke of the war mostly, and how he was recovering from war injuries in a hospital in France. It sounded like he was doing fairly well to her relief, but she could sense that he wasn't telling her how he was really doing. She guessed he was feeling as worn and disheartened as she felt, probably more so.

The source of her fatigue finally came to her when Henri and the men that left for East Africa came back – in fewer numbers. Henri looked worse than Michelle felt. He was burning up with fever. Beneath his dark skin there was a pallor that frightened Michelle.

She helped him inside the house and he collapsed on the sofa with a groan. Michelle tried to offer him water, but he could hardly drink it. He complained of abdominal pains and all Michelle could do was to offer him more fluids.

"So much for serving in the Labour Contingent," he groaned.

"What exactly happened?" She asked, filling up another glass full of water.

"We got over there, but many of us died or caught diseases. We decided it was in everyone's best interests to come back home."

He bent over and coughed up a mixture of phlegm and blood into a bucket beside the sofa. Michelle sighed as she approached him again and helped him try to drink more water. He tried to feebly push her hand away.

"I can't drink any more, Michelle," he croaked out.

"But you need to. You're badly dehydrated."

He ran a dry tongue over chapped lips.

"What's the use when I can hardly keep anything down?"

Michelle kindly stroked his hair and pleaded with him. "Just try, Henri."

He slowly swallowed down the water and then laid his head back.

"This won't go away until our people are better," he said. "I mean, I feel terrible, and look at you. You don't look so good yourself."

The look in her eyes hardened. "I'm fine," she bit out stubbornly. "I have to be. Someone has to watch over everything."

The clocked chimed the hour and she stood.

"I have to go talk to our boss. Our people can't survive like this for much longer, and we've been discussing on what to do when this war is over. Trading and exporting is the major key to getting everything back to normal."

Henri nodded. "Hopefully this war will be over soon." He raised his hand and she took it.

"Don't strain yourself or anything," he said in a quiet voice.

"Please, Henri," she answered, smiling. "I don't think I'm going to die any time soon. Now you just stay on that sofa and get plenty of rest. You're the one who shouldn't strain yourself."

He nodded and shut his eyes to go to sleep. After watching her brother for another minute or two, Michelle wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and prepared to head out to the City Hall. As she headed for the front door, she passed by a mirror and caught a glimpse of herself.

She saw a thin, almost starved looking woman with a pale, shrunken-in face. Her eyes were darkly rimmed and her hair had been pulled back in a messy braid. Michelle winced. Perhaps Henri was right – she did look terrible, as if she hadn't eaten a decent meal for months (though this was true). Unable to bear the sight any longer, she quickly looked away and left the house.

Henri continued to battle with fever and dysentery for the next month. Michelle, while not at meetings with her superiors, continued to stay by his side though she herself felt almost too weak to stand. The both of them were crippled by the suffering of their people and there were times that Michelle found herself just as listless as her brother. Every now and then she sent out letters to France, India, and Abigail and to Arthur, but as time wore on, she stopped altogether. It took too much time and energy, especially when she found herself drifting out of consciousness just like Henri did. She didn't have anything pleasant to write about anyway.

Finally, it was on one rainy afternoon in November that the brother and sister heard the news on the radio: the war had finally come to an end.

* * *

A.N.: Ooh, a WWI chapter! :D

Okay... so I don't really have much on the fighting, but I do have England in the trenches for a little while! ^u^;;

Wanna know some facts?

1) A group of the Seychellois people were assigned to help fight in the war for the Seychelles Labour Contingent. They were stationed in East Africa, but sadly, many of the group either were killed or died of dysentery and malaria, so they were sent home shortly thereafter. So much for a lot of action in the war, eh? :/

2) Many of the men joined the Labour Contingent to get away from troubles at home. Because of the war, trading had ceased between England and Seychelles, so the islanders had no way to keep receiving food and other necessary items. Prices went up and many began to starve. Because of lack of food, crime also went up at a frightening rate. Due to this and the number of losses in the Labour Contingent, by the end of WWI, there were only 24,000 people living on the islands. O_O Poor Michelle.

I imagined that with all this going on, Seychelles herself would be having a hard time dealing with it. There probably wouldn't be much that she could do, and since I think that the nations are affected by what happens to their people, I think that she would have been rendered incredibly weak by this.

I also like the idea of the nations growing back their limbs after losing them in battle, kind of like that certain lizard. Though it should be incredibly painful, I think. idk, it makes sense to me.

**Disclaimer**: I really don't know if any prisoners escaped prison on the islands during this time. I also don't know if there were any violence caused by them or anything. It's a fictional moment for dramatic purposes. I guess you could say this thing is historical fiction... ;)


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